


Affinity War

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (but everybody lived and it was totally fine), (in fact let's just gloss over it), Accidental Phone Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Humor, Identity Reveal, Let Mr. Harrington Lead a Normal Field Trip 2K19, MJ doesn't know Peter is Spider-Man, MJ vs. Tony: Snark Battle, My First Work in This Fandom, Nerds in Love, Peter doesn't know MJ does naked sketches of him, Peter has a crush on MJ, Peter's new suit is made of boyfriend material, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Romance, corruption of the cultural contributions of George Lucas, friendly neighbourhood spider-man, relationship advice with Uncle Bruce, that was a terrible joke and has no relevance to the plot of this story, wait what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2019-07-23 15:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 33
Words: 102,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16162010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Defeating Thanos was the biggest challenge of Peter's life....Until he realized he wanted to date MJ.*NOW COMPLETE! Tell your friends and neighbours! You know, if you want them to know you read porn*





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do I even begin? Maybe by sounding less like I'm about to introduce Regina George, right? Ok. This is my first story for the Avengers fandom. I actually quit writing fanfiction cold turkey a month ago, but apparently it's just like the mob, because it pulled me back in. So, the story. Expect humour. Expect scenes of a (consensual) sexual nature. Expect at least 15 chapters. Expect me not knowing precisely what's going to happen since I've never planned out a story in my life―by which I mean the year and a half I've been writing fiction.
> 
> Let's go, people. My write-y senses are tingling.

I

“Mr. Director?”

“Fury.”

Peter paused, gaze drifting sideways as he thought. He twisted a little in his fancy conference room chair, making it swivel soundlessly.

“So… _Mr._ Fury or _Director_ Fury?”

“Either,” one-eyed Morpheus rumbled, staring back at him the way a dead fish stares back. Flat. No blinking. Kinda freaky.

“’K,” Peter pushed on, “so, Mr. Fury, do I have to like sign a contract or something? Do I need a lawyer? Do I―”

“What contract are you expecting to sign, Mr. Parker?”

“Ooh, answering a question with a question,” Tony commented, not looking up from his tablet. “Fury’s in a playful mood. Friday, ready the strobe lights and ‘Quill’s Sweet Party Mix Number 17.’”

“I have those settings ready,” the room calmly assured him.

Peter’s gaze slingshoted from his mentor to his… boss?

“Like a good guy contract? I guess?”

“And what is it that you think such a thing would stipulate?” Fury asked, giving no hint whatsoever about whether or not Peter was on the right track.

“Woops, he did it again,” Tony muttered. Peter swallowed as Fury turned to give him a narrow-eyed look that the other man did not acknowledge.

“That I have to help when you guys, or civilians, or whoever, need me. Like, a guarantee that I’m gonna be a hero when I’m supposed to be.”

“He’s pretty hung up on this one,” Tony cut in on Peter’s behalf, leaning down the table towards Fury. “I tried telling the kid he could just promise to show up and there’d be an automatic no-take-backsies, but he didn’t go for it.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Fury replied with a steady drag. He turned back to Peter. “No, Mr. Parker. After the discord within the group a few years ago, we’ve scaled back on the formalities a little. Besides, the fact that you’d even ask makes me think you’re already more reliable than Mr. Stark.”

“I resent that,” Tony declared, once again totally intent on the screen before him. “Actually, wait, maybe I don’t. Ah, I’ll get back to you later.”

“Please don’t.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to. I’ll slip it in with the minutes from this meeting.”

“You’re taking minutes?” Peter asked, sitting up straighter. “Whoa, this is important.”

“Of course he’s not,” Fury countered. “Mr. Parker, I think we’re done here. Should the need arise, trust that I will be in touch.”

Peter started to wheel backwards to get up, but Mr. Director was out of his chair (and the room) with a quick swish of his long coat.

“That was awesome,” Peter concluded, a little stunned, palms flat on the frosted glass of the table. He glanced over at Tony, wide-eyed. “What just happened?”

“You’ve been Avengers-ized.”

“Huh?”

“You’re officially an Avenger.”

“I thought I was before.” Peter frowned in confusion.

“You were. Are. I think so, the wizard thinks so. I even told Cap, ‘cause I know you’ve still got a little of that misplaced hero worship thing going on with him, and he thinks so too.”

“So everybody thinks so?” Peter checked.

“Yep.”

“But not Mr. Fury?”

“Fury isn’t an ‘everybody.’”

“What is he then?”

“He’s the SHIELD seal of approval,” Tony explained without really explaining. He did that a lot. “They’ve identified you, they’ve met you, they’ve gotten an eager, voluntary agreement to be a good boy and listen to the babysitter―”

“That’s not what I―”

“You kind of did,” Tony countered with a shrug that was somehow casual and tense. “But don’t sweat it. The more agreeable you are with those goons, the less they’ll try to control you.”

“Director Fury didn’t seem like a goon to me,” Peter said honestly, starting to swivel his chair around again.

Tony narrowed his eyes intently.

“What _did_ he seem like? Any superlatives, adjectives, or fictional character allusions come to mind? ‘Cause I’m really trying to get away from anything specifically referencing the eyepatch ever since Thor, you know…” Tony graphically mimed what Peter took to be the loss of an eye.

“I think I’m gonna start heading back to the city,” he decided, giving his mentor an uneasy look as he stood, bouncing closed fists restlessly against the table.

“Alright,” Tony agreed, waving him off.

Peter grabbed his backpack and bounded towards the door.

“Oh, one more thing actually,” Tony said, making Peter turn. With a sudden intensity, he looked up from his screen. “Who is Michelle?”

“Uh, Michelle?” Peter caught the end of his sweater sleeve and began rubbing his fingers nervously against it.

“That’s what I said, kid.” Tony leaned back, the chair moving with him instead of springing him forward again. Pretty amazing how he designed everything unusually cool around the compound.

“She, uh, goes to my school. She’s on the decathlon team.” Peter cleared his throat, wondering why it was becoming hard to get the words out. “Her last name is―”

“Jones. Also goes by MJ. Yeah, I know. Maybe I wasn’t clear,” Tony said, how he said it when he meant _gee, Peter, maybe you just walked into something you should’ve been smart enough to avoid_. “I know exactly who she is. I want to know who she is to _you_.”

“T-to me? Mr. Stark?” Peter reached up and scratched at the back of his head. _Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap_.

“Yes, Peter, to you. And before you ask why I ask, not that you’d ever be so deliberately confrontational,” he added in a tone that had Peter pressing his lips firmly together just in case something like that tried to escape from his mouth without his say-so, “it’s because I look at you and I’m reminded―”

“Of yourself at my age?” Peter guessed.

Tony’s face scrunched up in severe discord.

“No way. I was definitely taller. No,” he continued before Peter had time to consider the likelihood of that comparison being the truth, “I’m reminded that you’re a sixteen year old boy with, you know, _urges_ , and―”

“Wow!” Peter shouted by accident. “I really should get going. It’s getting late and the only cars on the highway are going to be transport trucks and I’m not really a fan of riding on the tops of those because of the toxic emissions that make it pretty gross breathing-wise, but also morally gross because I know what that stuff’s doing to contribute to air pollution and global warming as a, as a whole,” he stumbled to finish.

“Peter,” Tony said with what seemed like a fatherly tilt of his head, “let me provide the comfort of assuring you that any of the feelings you may have for Michelle or anyone else at school are totally natural and…”

Peter’s entire brain sort of fuzzed out upon hearing her name again. Even _he_ hadn’t fully realized how much or what exactly he’d been thinking about her lately. _How did Mr. Stark know?_

“Actually,” he interrupted, “I think I’ll stay here at the compound tonight.” Peter jerked the door open and pointed vaguely down the hall. “In that room you gave me.”

“Yeah, no problem. Hey,” Tony said, looking excited, “we could have board games later. You and me against Bucky and Cap. Trivial Pursuit. We would mop the floor with them on any fact post-1940s.”

“Sure,” Peter distractedly agreed, wiggling his phone from his pocket. Tony noticed.

“Gonna call May? Ooh,” he said eagerly, “can I call her for you and come off totally responsible for informing her of your whereabouts?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea, Mr. Stark,” Peter hedged.

“Why not?”

“‘Cause of what happened the last time you called.”

“What do you mean?” Tony stared back at him unfazed.

“You tried to pick her up.”

“And?”

“You had called to invite her to your wedding.”

Tony sighed.

“Well, calling is so much more thoughtful and personal than just sending an invitation.”

“Riiight,” Peter droned uncomfortably until Pepper suddenly pressed the door wider, making him jump back.

“Hey Peter,” she said warmly, stepping into the room and tugging the tablet from Tony’s hands. “Don’t worry. _I’ll_ call May.”

“Great, thanks Pepper!” Peter said, fleeing the room before he could watch them have a potentially awkward conversation regarding what Pepper must have overheard. _Relationships_ , he thought as he jogged down the hall away from the conference room. _Weird_.

And then Peter remembered why he’d decided to stay. He reached the elevator, leaped inside when it dinged (pretty incredible almost never having to wait, since there were so few people here compared to the size of the facilities), and extracted his phone to dial Ned. So much easier to hear him in here than sitting on the top of a truck on the highway. Plus, this chat really couldn’t wait ‘til he got home to Queens.

“Hey man,” Peter breathed, keeping his voice down during the short trip between floors out of the instinctual politeness of crowded-space-etiquette. “Any idea how Mr. Stark might know who I’ve been hanging around with lately?”

“Uh, ‘cause you brag about what a stupendous best friend I am all the time in front of the Avengers?” Ned guessed.

“Ummm something like that.”

“Thought so,” Ned said with a self-satisfied chuckle.

“But also, how else might he know?” Peter pressed.

“Lemme just pull up the map of specs we made about your suit.”

“’K.” He tapped his foot, then stepped quickly out of the elevator onto his floor when the doors opened.

“I think I found something,” Ned told him.

He said what it was. Peter took off for his room at a run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully believe that Peter would only address Pepper formally for a long time, until she finally convinced him to just call her by her first name. She is very fond of him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow Canadians! Congratulations, you survived another family dinner! In case nobody made your favourite flavour of pie this year, consider this update my holiday treat to you (even though I would've posted today regardless...).
> 
> Quick question, pals. Are Monday updates working for everyone? Either Monday or Tuesday is best for me, and I went with Monday originally because there's generally less to look forward to on Mondays than other days of the week.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who checked out chapter one over the past week! Very grateful for those kudos and comments which have felt like a warm welcome into this fandom!

II

“‘Nanny Cam Protocol?’” Peter whined again, though he was sure the name hadn’t changed in the last five seconds. “That sucks so bad.”

“So, so bad,” Ned agreed, except he was kind of grinning, since Peter could now see his face hovering on a screen above his desk.

Peter groaned, gripping the edge of the desk to spin himself dizzyingly on his chair.

“How did we not catch this?” he wondered aloud when he came to a stop.

“Well,” Ned offered, “the upgraded suit has a lot of tech we aren’t familiar with ‘cause Mr. Stark, you know, developed it brand new for you. So freaking cool.” Peter shot him a _not now_ look and Ned went on. “I can’t help it that you wanted to test out all the fun stuff first.” Peter heard the clack of Ned’s keyboard as he explored further. “Looks like having the suit record your interactions was the default.”

“So he has audio?”

“Yep.”

“And visual?” Peter side-eyed his original Stark suit, spilling out of the top of his backpack where he’d unzipped it. He hoped this wasn’t going to be a pattern, but so far, not so good.

“Yep.”

“From every time I had the suit with me.”

“I dunno. I guess. Maybe your little spider drone guy was spying too.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Peter requested, slumping down until his forehead hit the desk. “I can’t take that betrayal right now.”

“Dude, you’re overreacting. What’s Mr. Stark gonna see? That Flash tries to cheat off your quizzes in History?”

“Among other things,” Peter mumbled.

“Well, I switched ‘Nanny Cam Protocol’ off, so, you’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Ned,” he said with as much enthusiasm he could feel while being crushed in the giant, sweaty fist of embarrassment.

“You gonna be back at May’s tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll head home in the morning.”

“Cool. Try to be more fun by then,” Ned benevolently suggested before disconnecting.

Great, so he’d effectively been walking around with a chaperone. Peter could see how the records would be mega useful as far as coverage of Thanos’s attempted genocide went, but after that? Had Mr. Stark just forgotten to neutralize those settings in the crazy the-world-almost-ended-(again!) aftermath, or was he still trying to keep Peter on a short leash? Peter hated to feel suspicious of anyone besides bad guys (and even those he afforded a generous benefit of the doubt until he caught them red-handed), but this seemed to go deeper than Mr. Stark’s four-day post-battle shawarma haze. He was just a little too gleeful with the information, which was alarming. Because it was sensitive. Because it was MJ.

The pajamas folded neatly into the drawer were a standard Avengers basic at the compound, except Peter’s said ‘Spider-Man’ on the back. Unfortunately, he was a little less psyched about wearing them than the pajamas deserved, rotating with a languid moroseness as he hung upside-down from a thick web rope (he’d put his suit on over top in the hopes it would help him think). He kept telling himself that the next time he faced the bed, he would no longer be thinking of her, but nope. MJ. MJ. MJ. Turn after turn.

So maybe Peter did think about her―sometimes. And maybe it was more now than it had been before his field trip to MoMA had taken an abrupt turn for the intergalactic. But maybe that was natural. It wasn’t like MJ didn’t seem to have changed too, ‘cause she did. She was friendlier. They ate lunch together at school sometimes. She flipped him off far less often than she used to. He’d even seen her _smile_. Peter felt himself relaxing into that memory, _physically_ relaxing and sliding gradually down his rope towards the floor with a sigh. He could recall how her hair had been pulled back from her face. How the smile had been open and sudden, meaning she hadn’t been able to hide it by looking down or obscuring her face in a textbook. How those long legs of hers had been stretched way out under the table where they were sitting and how, right after the smile, she’d dropped the expression like a hot potato because their legs had accidentally touched…

Peter felt an abrupt discomfort in the groin area of his suit and flipped to the floor, wriggling and leaping out until he stood in just his pajamas. Mr. Stark wanted to track his every move, snoop on his conversations, suss out his crushes, make sure he was doing his homework? Fine. What Peter was not ok with was finding out there was some other embarrassingly named function like ‘Puberty Sensor,’ only activated when it detected swelling in the crotch portion of the suit unrelated to injury sustained in physical combat. He shuffled to the pristinely made bed, luxurious with puffy white duvet, and flopped face down. Mostly face down. He shifted his hips a little bit sideways.

“Crap,” he said aloud, even though it was muffled like he was talking into a marshmallow.

He scrunched up his forehead trying to think of scary stuff until he remembered that Mr. Stark knew (or at least suspected) that he was into MJ. That helped calm things down. Of course, then Peter still had to confront the fact that he was into MJ. Like a lot of things he’d experienced, he wondered if this was any easier for sixteen-year-olds who didn’t have superpowers. At least they didn’t have to worry about surveillance. He turned his head to the side, breathing normally without a face full of duvet. Even then, contemplating MJ made Peter lightheaded.

She was so smart and so tough and so opinionated and so, just, _beautiful_ ; he kind of felt like a dork for missing it before. When he’d liked Liz a million years ago, he’d been able to see that crush coming and had basically held out his arms to it, like a kid asking to be lifted onto an adult’s shoulders. Liking MJ was like having a ceiling tile drop out and smack you over the head while you were focused on writing an exam (Peter’d heard about that happening to a guy). And then the ceiling tile gave you the finger. It was completely unexpected and it had made it totally impossible to keep doing what he’d been doing, to keep moving along through his life every day in the same way he’d been before. Peter lay prone and, in his mind, opened up every door to every good possibility and just let himself _like MJ_. He thought he was going to explode.

“I need help,” he told the duvet.

It was impossible to imagine talking to Mr. Stark about this. Telling Ned would mean risking having it brought up in front of MJ, even if it wasn’t on purpose. As a friend and as the guy in the chair, Ned was totally solid. He did the research, he was Peter’s _team_ before he’d ever had a real shot at being called an Avenger. He distracted everybody when the yo-yo of death had appeared over New York so Peter could climb out of the school bus. But this wasn’t a case of saving the world, or the entire universe. This was coming to terms with and, hopefully, eventually, miraculously, professing his feelings for a girl. Way, way harder than taking down some blue space dude with a golden glove no gaudier than the watches the stupid-rich businessmen wore on Wall Street. Peter exhaled heavily.

May was a strong contender for the role of confidante, but she wasn’t here. Peter rose from the bed and put his suit back on.

“Hey, Karen?”

“Hello, Peter,” the suit replied in that soothing voice. His shoulders relaxed from a position that felt as though he was being squeezed like an action figure. (They sold those. Of him. He’d seen them…. He maybe owned a few. That information was firmly in the top five list of things he very badly wanted to keep secret from MJ, even above the superhero alter ego.)

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, Peter. I’m always happy to help.”

“How do I― How should― What happens if―”

“I can see that you’re struggling with your inquiry. Would broadening it to a topic enable you to get the intent across more clearly?”

“That’s a good idea, Karen,” Peter acknowledged, thinking hard as he paced the room, hands on hips. “It’s about… friends that kind of become… No. It’s about… social relationships.”

“Social relationships?”

“Yeah,” he said with less than total confidence. “Uh, navigating them.”

“Like work relationships?”

“Not exactly…”

“Hostile relationships? Interactions with human and/or alien aggressors?”

“It does feel kinda alien,” Peter allowed, throwing himself into his desk chair, “but no. More like friends.”

“To which aspect of friendship does your inquiry pertain, Peter? Teamwork? Trust? Experimenting with drugs or alcohol to fit in? Bullying?”

“Love,” Peter blurted. “It’s about love. Or at least, it’s heading in that direction. I think.”

“I see.”

He let his head hang back.

“I wish I was as calm as you are, Karen.”

“In everything I just scanned to gather information about love, there was no mention of calmness.”

“So what does that mean?” Peter twisted slowly back and forth in his chair.

“Peter, it means that if you were as calm as you perceive me to be, you wouldn’t be heading in the direction of love.”

“Oh.” He considered that for a minute.

“There seem to be two ways to proceed, if you would like me to go on.”

“Yeah,” he encouraged as he quit moving. “Please go ahead. I’m listening.”

“You decide if you want to begin feeling calm, or not.”

“Meaning, do I want to like MJ? Like it’s a choice?” His heart sped up just thinking about her.

“Everything is a choice, Peter.”

“I dunno, Karen,” he sighed. “I don’t think you’ve ever had a crush.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get you a suit lady who can do both: give relationship advice and set your supersuit to Instant Kill.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A SATURDAY update? After specifically stating that it was easiest for me to post on Mondays or Tuesdays? I know. You can thank my impatience and general "ah, fuck it" attitude.
> 
> Now, whaddaya say we bring the leading lady into the story and watch how Peter "Heart Eyes" Parker interacts with her?
> 
> Cool. Let's do it.

III

Between catching up on the homework he’d put aside at Mr. Stark’s request to swing by the compound the day before and sheer panic at not yet knowing how he was going to proceed with the MJ situation come Monday, Peter’s Sunday was pretty jam-packed. May kept giving him that look the way she always did when he was acting a little squirrely, so he tried his best, really, to stay within acceptable levels of weirdness.

It was a cruel understatement to say he’d put her through too much lately. Peter made sure, therefore, to repeat over and over that his restlessness had nothing to do with the Avengers or any foreseeable possibility of May’s heart being broken again. There was a tiny part of her that was always scared now; she’d told him how it felt to see jerky news chopper footage of Spider-Man rocketing into the atmosphere clinging to an alien spaceship and be the only person in New York City―no, the world―to worry more about who would save Spider-Man than who would save the rest of them. She said it was the loneliest she’d ever felt. Peter couldn’t promise she’d never feel that way again.

He put off the MJ conversation until Monday morning, at which point, he was feeling so sick from nerves that he nearly puked up his banana. That would’ve been even more distressing for May, so Peter just kept his mouth shut and promised to be super, super safe before he headed out for school. On the way, he went back over the intermission between Sunday and Monday’s freak-outs: Sunday night. It felt risky just thinking about it, making Peter’s arms tingle in something just outside the realm of supernatural alert. Even with the feeling that he was being watched or followed or something, Peter recalled Sunday night with MJ―not the real MJ, of course. Just the one in his head.

What did he think about when he thought about MJ? Peter would lie back― _had_ lain back the night before―and bend his arm under his head, then imagine running into her on the street. She’d be happy to see him, happy enough that he was able to read it in her warm eyes, and it would be easy to suggest that they continue along down the sidewalk together, loop the block or find a bench in the postage-stamp community park. Peter recalled these early stages of his fantasies as he jogged along crosswalks to make fast-changing lights. He held out a hand to warn a cyclist to stop when he noticed a car about to make a tight turn that would cut off their path and ended up getting hit himself, somewhere in his chest, once both the car and bike were gone from the corner, as he pictured again the comfortable way he and MJ would sit together in the park.

The route to school smelled like fumes and stale pizza, but Peter was being pleasantly bewildered by his invented memory of the other option, during the scenarios where MJ wasn’t interested in a walk or a vulnerable chat under a maple tree. Where MJ didn’t let him hold her hand. Where she grabbed the front of his t-shirt and he suddenly realized they weren’t out on the sidewalk at all, but in his bedroom (or hers―his mind had crafted a thousand variations). Where she _wanted_ him, couldn’t get his shirt off fast enough before she touched his chest and reached lower, which was around the time Peter―in his real bed―would sneak his fingers down his pajama bottoms to stroke his hardening―

“PENIS! HEY, PENIS PARKER!” Flash yelled as he drove past, headed for the entrance to the student parking lot.

Flash could laugh, but Peter enjoyed a private smile at the sight of him in a car far less flashy than the one Spider-Man had commandeered and subsequently totalled. Yep, New York was a city for the subway riders who shuffled and groaned like the living dead. For the taxi hailers who daily put their lives in the hands of U-turning daredevils. For anyone who tolerated being mashed into six or eight strangers at once on a city bus, or walked the sidewalks in new shoes and prayed that, when they inevitably stepped in something, it was at least identifiable. Driving a car was sending up a flare that let trouble know you were available. What Spider-Man had done to Flash’s dad’s car was a mercy, really. Some people just didn’t learn.

Peter breathed deep as he joined the teenaged, disgustingly over-cologned stampede, letting the last of the rigidity abandon his dick before he had the chance to run into MJ and feel even more complicated things if she spotted his boner. There were suave maneuvers out of that predicament that led to him ecstatically thrusting away while MJ chanted his name, the pair of them horizontal in the storage room off the gym where they kept the high jump pads. Obviously, he couldn’t exactly put any of those maneuvers to use. Instead, he relaxed, stopped off at his locker, and headed to Spanish.

He found Ned (or Ned found him) between periods and experienced the kind of impressive ability his best friend had to ask about a hundred questions in three minutes. As always, Peter started to answer, got interrupted several times, and gave up to wait for a pause.

“So if the surveillance settings _were_ upped in anticipation of the appearance of Godzilla,” Ned concluded, “I want you to tell me as soon as you know anything, even if Stark asks you to keep quiet. He might be Iron Man, but I’m still―”

“The guy in the chair,” Peter filled in distractedly. “Of course, buddy.”

“Cool,” Ned said with a grin. “See you at lunch.”

He took a turn into the Geography classroom that made Peter miss the brotherly pat he’d been about to land on Ned’s shoulder. His reflexes were too precise for that mistake―a testament to how completely Peter had zoned in on MJ at the other end of the hall. With Liz, he’d noticed the clothes. With MJ, he was noticing the body in them, the collarbones he could see where the neck of her grey sweatshirt hung loose. When someone blocked his line of vision, he burst into action, sidestepping, squeezing around, and accidentally shouldering acquaintances and strangers alike in an effort to get to her. He really didn’t have a plan beyond that. Unfortunately, the hall emptied around him, taking MJ with it.

“Crap,” Peter muttered to himself, hitching the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder.

The bell rang and he was late to his next class. The teacher wasn’t feeling generous. That meant a detention slip.

“Crap,” Peter said again.

This was going to make it hard to confidently approach MJ after school and ask her out with an irresistible gallantry seldom seen outside fairy tales. Because otherwise, that was exactly what would’ve happened. Peter was reasonable sure.

At lunch, he felt kinda bad for not being more enthusiastic about Ned’s monster theories (he was on to giant Cyclopes). Though he was grateful that Ned was keeping his volume down every time he referred to the fact that Peter was Spider-Man, he was still feeling anxious because MJ hadn’t arrived yet. Not that she always sat with them, because she didn’t. But now, when she did, it wasn’t at the far end of the table. It was right across from Peter, or right beside him even. Right where he could reach over and pull her into his lap…

“Ned?” he asked quickly as his friend across the table took a big bite of a sandwich. Ned’s eyebrows went up as he chewed, indicating he was ready to listen. “I’ve been, uh, thinking about MJ.”

“Why?” Ned asked after swallowing. “You think we should run the Cyclops thing past her? Peter, you know that would require telling her that you’re _you know who_ ,” he hissed, glancing around.

“No, no, no, it’s not that,” Peter assured him with a sharp wave of his hand. He toyed with the lid of his water bottle.

“So what is it?” Ned asked seriously, leaning forward.

Peter slowly exhaled. He could tell Ned. He _should_ tell Ned. Better to give all these feelings a vent, even a small one, than to spend the second half of the school day the same way he’d spent the first half: wrapped up in daydreams starring MJ. Alright, he could do this.

“I think I’m―”

“Hey, nerds,” MJ greeted, dropping down to sit next to Peter and banging her bag heavily on the floor. She set a bottle of cranberry juice on the table, uncapping it with a sharp twist.

Ned scoffed in disbelief.

“You’re as much of a nerd as we are! You’re on the decathlon team with us!”

Peter watched her tilt her head back slightly and give Ned that unsettling look she sometimes doled out, eyes narrowed, that seemed to say you were confusing, disappointing, or exhausting her with your mere existence.

“Anyway,” she said abruptly, breaking the look. “Have either of you started the research paper for Bio?”

Before Peter could jumble his actually intelligent thoughts on the subject until they came out as idiotic babble, he saw Flash approach the table from the corner of his eye.

“Hi, ladies,” the jerk said, addressing Ned and MJ. “Penis.” He nodded condescendingly to Peter.

“I am too damn tired for this today,” MJ declared. Suddenly, she stood, lifted her drink, and upended it over Flash’s head. He spluttered, holding his formerly white polo shirt away from his body where it wanted to cling, soaked in juice.

Peter was floored by her absolute lack of hesitation, not to mention her disinterest in giving Flash a warning. This tendency of hers to get straight to the good part was definitely a characteristic that translated into Peter’s wildest dreams about her.

“You better go wash that out in the bathroom,” MJ unemotionally advised Flash as she sat back down. “Looks like it’s starting to stain.”

Fortunately (as far as Peter was concerned), Flash was hung up enough on his appearance that he took off instead of countering. Even more fortunate was how MJ’s knee rubbed along Peter’s thigh as she got comfortable. He dragged his backpack half onto his lap.

“Sooo,” Ned began, eyes darting. “That paper.”

“Yeah,” MJ picked up. “You guys want to meet after school and look over the rubric? I don’t want any bullshit surprises in the grading.”

“Sounds good,” Ned immediately agreed.

Peter thought it sounded good too. More time with MJ was something he’d been after for a while, but with the weekend’s rushed realizations, now it was a full-on craving. His shoulders slumped.

“I have detention.”

“What?” Ned gasped. “Why?”

“I was late to period two.”

“Bummer,” he commiserated, then looked at MJ. Peter felt a little jealous at the idea of Ned hanging out with her without him. But Ned wasn’t like that. He barely liked MJ as a human being. “Let’s not then,” he suggested to her and received no complaint.

The end of lunch bell rang a minute later and the three of them rose reluctantly.

“Hey,” MJ said, brushing Peter’s arm to slow him down as Ned walked out of the cafeteria ahead of them. Peter stared into her eyes, maybe stepped a little closer as they walked than he had to when somebody pushed by behind him, just because he had to be near her. “I’m still free,” she informed him, glancing at the people moving around them with―no, it couldn’t be―something that almost looked like nervousness to Peter. “After school, I mean,” MJ clarified with a light shrug. “So I might drop by.”

“Drop by?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Uh, yeah, of course. Drop by where?”

She snorted.

“Hello, your detention,” MJ snarked with a smirk. Peter’s gaze went swiftly down to her mouth to take in and memorize the almost-smile before it could fade away. “If… if that’s…”

“Yeah, great,” he professed.

“Not exactly the word I’d use to describe a detention. Are you even on this planet right now? Peter? Hello?”

He focused on her words with a jolt. Little did she know, he had actually been off the planet, but he felt the effects of gravity even less right now, here with her.

“Yep. Uh, thanks,” Peter said, not really sure why he was thanking her.

Absurdly, he patted her arm as they came up to the classroom he needed to get to. And then, because one ill-advised gesture wasn’t enough, he found himself leaning in and kissing MJ on the cheek. Boy, her skin was soft, and he inhaled the scent of her before hastily drawing back. Her lips parted and he didn’t know if she was going to say something, yell something, or whip out another bottle of juice and give him the same treatment she’d given Flash, but Peter didn’t stick around to find out; he fled into the classroom with his face hotter than a panful of larb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so we haven't hit anything too racy yet (we'll get there). I'm even more surprised than you are, since almost all of the fanfiction I've written in the past has been of a genre I'll affectionately call "wham-bam." Apparently, we're all in this story for the long haul; I'm bumping my original estimate of at least 15 chapters up to at least 20. It's romantic, and pining-y, and a lil angsty (which would be a great rap name), and, when viewed in contrast to my previous E-rated stories, recalls to me the immortal words of Dmitri Desgoffe-und-Taxis: "What's the meaning of this shit?!" That's me @ me right now, observing my own tender treatment of one Peter Parker.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I remain enthusiastic about this project and appreciate your support!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, people! Progress report!
> 
> A+ on Attendance - the hits on this story have been fantastic! We're averaging almost 1000/chapter! Pat yourselves on the back!  
> A+ on Subscriptions - the number of subscribers to this story is more than double the next highest on any of my other fics. Amazing! Another pat on the back!  
> C- on Comments - this is where I sit you down and ask what we can do to bump this grade up. If you're reading my work, I'd love to hear from you! As I said in my note on ch. 1, I'm brand new to the Marvel/Avengers fandom. Say hi!
> 
> If you couldn't care less, then proceed to reading about the first Peter/MJ encounter post-Peter's awkward hallway cheek peck. *cringes*

IV

“Those idiots!” she raved.

“I know, May, I know,” Peter assured her, holding his phone tighter to his ear.

“All their self-importance about running a school that will shape and challenge young minds, and then they give my kid a detention for being two minutes late.”

“I know,” he said again. “But I’ll be home right after.”

He heard her sigh.

“Alright. _Right_ after? No swingin’ around the neighbourhood first?”

“Maybe a little swingin’ around,” Peter admitted with a grin, remembering the suit currently stuffed at the bottom of his backpack, “but definitely home in time to help with dinner.”

“Well, ok then,” she encouraged in a hearty tone. “That’s what I like to hear. Now get in there before they give you another detention for being late to detention.”

“Ok, May. Love you, bye,” he finished hurriedly.

Coach Wilson was sitting at the front of the room like he always was―same guy, same spot. With anyone else, Peter would’ve wondered if they’d drawn the short straw to end up with all this detention duty, but this guy seemed to treat the disciplinary period as downtime for himself. Today, he was angled precariously back in his chair, earbuds in, staring at his phone. Every so often, he’d laugh loudly. Peter guessed he was watching a movie.

MJ was already there, seated in the far corner. So much for just dropping by. She looked pretty settled in with her legs extended under the desk and a pad of paper in front of her.

“Hey, MJ,” he said nervously, shrugging off his backpack and taking the seat beside her.

“Hey,” she replied. She glanced quickly sideways before going back to her sketch.

Peter exhaled shakily. He wondered if this was good, her curt casualness, or if she was hoping to repel him to the opposite side of the room. It was so hard to tell with a girl whose trademark was shutting down attempts to talk to her. Then again, she probably wouldn’t be here if not for him, right? Obviously, she’d either dismissed the childish cheek kiss he’d given her or chosen to belatedly tolerate this latest manifestation of his lameness. Or she’d liked it. Because she liked _him_.

He shifted in his chair, twisting towards her.

“So, I got detention too,” MJ said without looking up.

_Oh_ , Peter thought. So much for the burgeoning theory that she was head over heels and dying to be around him.

“How―how come?”

“Flash snitched. Should’ve seen _that_ coming,” she reflected dryly, sweeping her pencil across the page.

“At least you earned yours by doing something worthwhile,” he sighed, folding his arms on his desk. “I was just late.”

“I dunno, Peter,” MJ said thoughtfully, tightening her strokes. He watched her eyebrows pull together in concentration. “Being late is still making a statement.”

“Yeah?” He perked up, assuming that was a positive thing coming from her.

“Sure. Every little act of dissent tilts the system off its axis.”

“Right,” he agreed, totally not following. When she didn’t respond to his extremely eloquent contribution, Peter shot a look at Coach Wilson (still distracted), then propped his head on his hand to watch MJ draw. “That’s _really_ good,” he commented earnestly.

“Well, the art is only as stirring as what the subjects can inspire,” she revealed, sounding bored. “Behold,” MJ gestured towards a kid who appeared to be sleeping on a desk at the other end of their row, “my muse.”

She’d drawn him true to life as far as the unconsciousness went, but had added cartoon birds flapping around his head like he’d been knocked out. It made Peter smile.

“I love this,” he said, shuffling his chair sideway and reaching out to indicate the birds with one finger. When he turned his head, he realized how much closer he was to MJ.

“Thanks,” she said softly, darting a probing look at him.

“Why do you, um, only draw heads?”

She frowned, gradually shading in the hair on her portrait.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve only ever seen you draw someone from the neck up.” Peter gestured to the range on himself. “Why no bodies?”

In an instant, MJ’s cheeks had flushed. Peter’s heart was pounding; he considered that she might have taken his question to the _Titanic_ extreme.

“You don’t know I don’t draw bodies,” she shot back. “I don’t know what _you_ do in _your_ free time.”

Peter’s lips parted, but what was he going to say? Scale buildings in a red suit? Rescue cats from trees and prevent petty theft in between, you know, saving the world? He slumped back in his chair.

“Good point,” he conceded, tuning out the inquisitive expression that appeared on MJ’s face as he dug out his Spanish workbook. Might as well get his homework done now. Tonight, he was going to need to spend his time getting advice before he really bungled this thing with MJ.

* * *

“Peter, you have an incoming from Mr. Stark.”

“Ok, Karen.” He paused halfway up a fire escape, hanging upside down as Mr. Stark’s face appeared on his display.

“I see you’ve been doing a little tinkering, Geppetto.”

“What do, uh, what do you mean?” Peter reflexively scratched his head on the outside of his suit.

“Disabling ‘Nancy Cam Protocol’? I’m hurt, kid, I’m hurt.”

“It was a major invasion of my privacy,” he protested.

“Let’s not use such ugly terms. It was… caring, with the assistance of highly advanced technology,” Stark countered.

“It was snooping!”

“Hey! Ugly terms alert! Second warning!”

“Sorry, Mr. Stark. I was just―”

“It’s fine. You’ll just have to keep me up on the high school gossip yourself. Straight from the spider’s mouth, as it were.”

“I can do that, but I actually gotta get home right now. May’s expecting me.” As he spoke, Peter pulled himself up and crept to the top of the building, putting home in his sights.

“Sure, kid. I understand. Tell me, what does May wear when she’s cooking? It’s just a little scientific curiosity I have.”

“Later, Mr. Stark,” Peter said abruptly, letting Karen disconnect for him as he leapt from the roof to swing his way home.

It was awesome not having to sneak across the ceiling anymore since May knew about Spider-Man. Peter dropped in through his window, yanked off his mask and called out to let her know he’d be right in to help with dinner. Thanks to detention, he’d kept his other afterschool activity (protecting the neighbourhood) short. He was a little off his game anyway; as hard as he looked for a crime to interrupt or somebody to help, there wasn’t enough going on to take his mind off MJ.

“I’m ready to talk now,” he informed May after their meal, clenching his clammy fists together in his lap under the table.

“Finally! ‘Cause I cannot take another dinner like that. Did you realize that when I asked how much pepper you wanted on your corn, you said, ‘two’?”

“I’ve been a little distracted,” Peter admitted.

“Yuh huh,” May confirmed. “So what is it? Stark? School? Something else that starts with S?”

“It’s a girl,” he confessed, lifting a hand to rearrange the bottles of salad dressing still on the table.

“Uh oh. G-word.”

“Yeah.”

“Which one?” she asked, leaning forward to give him her full attention. That was such a great thing about May.

“Michelle Jones?”

“From the decathlon team? I thought she was always giving you a hard time?”

_You have no idea_ , Peter thought. But that was beyond the realm of what he was willing to discuss with his aunt.

“It’s been better lately.”

“That’s good, ‘cause, you know, public displays of affection aren’t for everybody, but public displays of hostility are worse in my books.”

“For sure,” Peter agreed. “Mine too.”

“Well, I’m relieved that your potential girlfriend won’t be greeting you by flipping you double birds. Has there been any of the other thing then?”

“What’s the other thing?”

“Affection, Peter. Any progress there?” she asked, giving him big, hopeful eyes.

“I sorta kissed her, by accident,” he mumbled.

“By accident? _Peter_.”

“On the cheek. I don’t know what I was doing.” His hands began to move wildly. “I wasn’t even thinking about―I mean, I _was_ ―but I didn’t―”

“So what happened?” May looked concerned. Peter sighed.

“Nothing. She was in detention with me and she didn’t say anything about it.”

“Have you thought about…?” She gave an uninformative shrug.

“About what?”

“Asking her on a date?”

He exhaled exhaustedly and rose to stack their plates.

“That’s a big step.”

“Oh, I know,” May sympathized, “but it kinda goes between realizing you like her and actually being her boyfriend. Unavoidable, you know?”

“Well,” Peter acknowledged, arranging their dishes in the sink before flooding it with steaming water and squirting in the soap, “when you put it that way.”

“Do you think Michelle would be receptive to something like that?” May fished a chunk of carrot out of the remains of their salad and crunched it between her teeth. “Gloves, Peter, gloves,” she counselled before he could plunge into the sink up to his elbows. “That water’s hot.”

“She’s hard to read,” he said, tugging on the rubber gloves. He glanced at May. “This might be impossible.”

“Come on, honey, you beat up an invincible alien overlord. Where’s the can-do attitude?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be MJ-centric. In fact, every fifth chapter in this story will be MJ-centric (5, 10, 15, etc.). Something to look forward to if you enjoy her character as much as I do!
> 
> BTW, any early favourites as far as characters go?
> 
> Oh, and the next chapter is where this story's most provocative tag comes into play.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ken21! Moose_Tracks! redpepprflakes! Anndy18! ketbelle! M! kagee! Big thanks to all of you for leaving comments on chapter 4! It means so much to receive your thoughts and encouragement. If I wanted to write in a vacuum, I would just do that and never post my work publicly. So please, readers, share your enthusiasm!
> 
> NOW WHO'S FREAKIN' READY FOR MJ'S CHAPTER?! (Tone it down, right? Ok. Noted.)

V

MJ sprawled across the couch with the stillness of a yogi and the lazy territoriality of a frat boy, reading _The Awakening_ until her mom left for the night shift at the hospital. Calling Dr. Jones. Glancing cautiously around, MJ scored the corner of her page over and over with her nail before folding it into a secure dog-ear and tossing the book onto the couch as she pushed off of it.

Usually, her hobby was as casual as a gym class attendee’s commitment to being a ‘student athlete’ and she could lay down her pencil away from school and do other things at home, like read or plot her passive-aggressive feminist uprising from the window seat in the living room. This evening, she couldn’t wait to get her hands on the Night Pad.

The Night Pad was one sketchbook among many in her collection; some of the books were still untouched, some pocket-sized, some containing minor forays into other mediums like marker and pastel, but the Night Pad was the only one that was hidden. It was also the only one she’d begun to fill because of a person, rather than a place, an abstract idea, or plain old boredom. MJ hadn’t understood―that night she’d first fingered its pages and selected it from her stash of blank pads―exactly what she was doing, until the sharp lines of a style more mature than her favoured cartoonish roundness dashed across the white space. She’d become obsessed that first night, sketchbook propped against her thigh in bed as her eyes burned, working until almost 5am.

Peter thought she didn’t draw bodies. The truth was that the first one she’d ever drawn was his.

It had still been cold outside when she’d started on this deviation from the usual family-friendly quality of her drawing. She’d outlined Peter in coats and scarves. Made his feet heavy with boots forged by her pencil from rough rectangles. As the weather warmed, the layers had been shed―both out there in the real, disappointing world and in here, in the one where MJ had developed an aching crush on Peter Parker.

Tonight, she flipped the pages hastily, breezing past Peter in a jean jacket. Peter in a hoodie. Peter in a long-sleeved shirt. Peter in a button down. Peter in his gym uniform. Peter, Peter, Peter. And then, Peter nude. MJ called it the intersection of her best guess (because, hello, virgin) and a thorough study completed in hundreds of long looks when she’d watched him and he hadn’t noticed. The pose was seated, elbows back to prop along a structure that was undefined in her sketch (which, in reality, had been a bench or a table in the computer lab, or the bleachers during a football game―she didn’t remember now because the truth on the page was more real to her than the source material) and legs stretched out comfortably. MJ swallowed just looking at it. A feeling crept up her neck, like a tingle that wouldn’t quite turn into a shudder. It made her face hot and her lips twitch.

Grabbing a stack of broken-in paperbacks, MJ crafted a viewing easel on her bed and leaned her sketchpad back against it. She pulled her oversized t-shirt over her head and grabbed a pencil, clamping it between her teeth as she unbuttoned her jeans and kicked them down. Her chest was rising and falling way too hard for her sedentary teenage lifestyle as she kept her eyes on the two-dimensional ones she’d reproduced on the page. Just this past weekend, she’d added features. It was the very first time she’d drawn Peter’s face. Before, she’d never been able to completely admit it was him.

MJ watched him like he was in the room, then unhooked her bra with perfunctory ease and let it fall. She pushed her underwear down and stepped out. Looking away from the face of the boy who’d shocked her with a kiss to her cheek today, MJ turned and observed herself in the round mirror hanging on her wall. Her eyes moved analytically over her whole body and she rotated, finding curves and angles.

Then she got back into bed and started sketching herself into existence alongside Peter.

* * *

Of course, she felt weird about it the next day. It hit hardest when she walked into her first class and saw Peter in his assigned seat, looking sideways out the window like he wanted to be out there, playing ultimate Frisbee or some other dumb shit. His hobbies (besides memorizing facts for decathlon) were still a mystery to her. Seeing him stare so hard, eyes absolutely focused, made MJ a little curious. Even at her most energetic point of the day―which wasn’t scheduled to arrive for two or three hours, as her half-open eyes reminded her―she didn’t have that amount of concentration to spend at school.

MJ stepped down an aisle of the classroom, craning her neck to try to get a sightline that would parallel Peter’s, and ran directly into the corner of a desk. It made a hideous scraping noise across the floor and definitely did enough damage to her thigh that she’d be seeing a bruise later. Also, it caused Peter to jerk his head around. Seriously, was the guy over-caffeinated? It was too early for such a quick reflex.

Abandoning her attempt at spying, MJ hurried to her desk. She could feel Peter’s eyes on her and the feeling was… annoyingly good.

“Hey,” he said as she sat one row over.

_Act natural_ , MJ told herself.

“Fuck off,” she shot back.

“Guess I’ll try again later then,” Peter joked.

MJ propped her face heavily in her hand to prevent herself from looking at him.

“Seriously though,” he said like two seconds later. “Decathlon meeting at lunch today, right?”

“No.”

“But we did a lunch meeting _last_ Tuesday,” he insisted.

She unpacked her stuff and decided to devote the last minutes before class started to capping and uncapping her pen.

“So?” It was a question, but MJ was hoping he wouldn’t answer. She needed time to re-establish dominance. Over her feelings, her heartrate, her friendship with Peter. Things had been so much simpler when the extent of their interactions had been her presenting him with her raise middle finger and him looking away in resignation.

“ _So_ , you’re the team captain,” Peter pressed.

MJ turned her head just a little. There was the edge of Peter’s desk. There was his textbook (already open―nerd). There were his hands, fingers gripping the corners of the likely-unsustainably-source, faux-wood surface. Her chest heaved like she was gonna barf up her heart. _Don’t you do it_ , she thought. _Don’t you memorize those fingers_.

“You should be keeping us organized, set a precedent,” he continued. “Most people would schedule the meetings for the same time every week.”

“Surely you don’t think I’m ‘most people,’ Peter,” MJ accused.

“ _No_.”

It came out with such vehemence that her head lifted off her hand and she fully turned to look at him. His face went pink and his eyes… Dammit, he was looking at her the way he’d been looking out that window.

“Ok,” she heard herself say, chewing her lip as her gaze ping-ponged between his eyes, mouth, and jawline. “We’ll meet at lunch.”

Peter was nodding rapidly, still giving her that _look_.

“Good,” he said.

“Good,” she snapped back.

“Good morning, everyone!” their overly perky teacher greeted.

MJ’s hand shot up.

“I’m sick,” she declared. She swept everything back into her bag and rushed out the door.

* * *

She wanted to take that look from Peter’s eyes and put it on paper. That way, she’d be able to examine it without needing to look the real thing in the face. Not thing, boy. Guy. Reason for her alibi-strengthening pit stop at the school nurse’s office to claim sudden symptoms that could only be cured by fresh air. MJ laid flat on her back on a picnic table in the yard. The two facts on her mind were that she needed to get back inside by second period, and that she couldn’t put that look down in a sketchbook. If anyone were to see it―see the way she _drew_ him―they’d know she wasn’t a cynical monster incapable of human love. They’d be able to tell as much by the way she captured his expression as by the expression itself that there was something going on there, and then MJ would have to move to the vast Bolivian salt flat or a Siberian ghost town or something.

Because, reliving it with her eyes closed to the sun, it sure seemed like there was something going on there.

She pictured Peter still sitting in class, confused and maybe worried about her. If only he hadn’t kissed her cheek like that yesterday, MJ would’ve been able to convince herself that Peter liking her back was a delusion, the way it really had been before Liz moved away. She had a horrible uncomfortable feeling that he didn’t like her because she was smart like Liz, or tall like Liz, or captain of the decathlon team like Liz, but that he actually liked her for herself. Peter was totally that kind of guy. Which meant that if she did anything about it, well, it’d be an unstoppable force. One with no known scientific failsafe or counterbalance. Just him and her. Peter and MJ. She didn’t know what to do with that.

“This is the kind of emergency you need an Avenger for,” MJ muttered, climbing off the table and soldiering back inside.

* * *

Things were going so well, it was almost like nobody wanted to stop and blink to make sure it wasn’t a dream. (As if any of them, even the lamest among them, ever specifically dreamt about a successful decathlon practice session. MJ had her doubts.) Every round, answers flew from mouths as quickly as she could get the questions read. The culprit might have been the fact that she’d actually followed through on a scheduled meeting―it seemed like Peter hadn’t told anyone that was thanks to him, which was sweet―thereby surprising everyone into doing well. If that was a thing. Or it was that Flash was whining less than usual, which meant less disturbance to morale. God, now MJ cared about morale. What a slippery slope this captaining thing was.

Towards the end of the lunch hour, she ran out of prepared questions and switched to quizzing them on information she could quickly google. Things started to fall apart at this deviation from their normal method, but they’d breezed through more questions than ever before, so MJ told everybody to go ahead and leave the meeting early.

Peter sort of lingered. MJ had sort of been hoping he would.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said, approaching when everyone else had filed out of the classroom they always borrowed for decathlon. “What, uh, what was it?”

“Headache,” she answered quickly, stuffing a handful of cue cards into her backpack. How dumb was it that having multidisciplinary trivia fired at her felt relaxing and talking to Peter made her hands sweat like lit candles?

“That sucks,” Peter replied sympathetically. “You should’ve told me when we were talking. I would’ve gone with you to the nurse.”

MJ snorted, but gave him a wry smile. Although she had her bag packed, she continued to fiddle with its contents. Walking out of this room meant sharing him with the chattering hoards she could hear heading back to their lockers from the cafeteria.

“I didn’t need the nurse, and I wouldn’t need him unless, I don’t know, both my legs were broken or something.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well definitely let me know if _that_ happens,” Peter laughed. “I’ll give you a piggyback.”

Swallowing hard, she imagined having her arms wrapped around him like that. Her whole body fit to his.

“A piggyback? Holding my hypothetically broken legs? Gee, thanks Peter,” she joked dryly.

“A fireman’s carry then.”

MJ stopped messing around in her backpack and stared at him. His expression had crossed that fine line between earnest and eager. _Do something_ , she urged herself.

“You just wanna be that close to my ass,” she accused. Was this flirting?

Peter blushed and shuffled. Huh. Maybe it was.

“I absolutely do―I mean don’t!” They locked eyes and she heard him mutter, “Crap,” arm half-raised to maybe run his hand through his hair.

“Which is it, Peter?” MJ teased, slinging her backpack on and taking a step towards him.

“Why don’t you just try not to break your legs?” he suggested, looking at her with something a little tougher in his eyes. She liked it and rewarded it with a smile. Peter stared back like she’d just told him he’d won the Nobel Prize in Chemistry.

“There’s something I want to ask you, Peter.” Was she saying his name too much? Was that weird?

“Uh huh?” His brown eyes were so steady, so rapt.

Ned came trudging back into the classroom and MJ felt her face fall. The bubbly feeling between her and Peter went flat like a stale soda.

“What’s the capital of Peru?” she said, recovering. “I heard they’re going to ask a lot of stuff about South America at the next tournament.”

“Oh,” Peter said. He glanced at Ned and back to MJ. “Lima?”

“Great, c’mon, Peter,” said Ned, yanking his friend by the arm. MJ started to move past them towards the door, supremely frustrated at herself. But mostly at Ned.

“Actually,” she heard Peter say, “I need to talk to MJ for a minute. Boring stuff,” he assured Ned as she turned back with a confused frown.

“Oook,” Ned allowed after a few seconds, voice suspicious, “but don’t let her rope you into more practice questions. If we keep doing what she says, she’ll go totally power mad.”

“I can hear you,” MJ pointed out, unimpressed.

“I’ll be at my locker for a couple minutes, otherwise, I’ll see you in class,” Ned informed Peter, giving MJ a guiltless shrug which she returned with a slow blink.

Her eyes widened when Peter followed Ned just enough to close the classroom door behind him.

“Now can I ask _you_ something?” he wondered, hands gesturing out towards her. He seemed… nervous.

“Sure.”

“Do you maybe want to…” He paused to take a deep breath. “Do you maybe want to go out on a date?”

“In general?” MJ asked because she couldn’t help it. This was a code red. This was panic mode. “Or with you specifically?”

“God,” Peter sighed, hand finally lifting to do that hair-smoothing thing, “hopefully with me.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He was staring at her in a way that (sort of) made her feel bad for always being so sarcastic.

“Yeah,” MJ confirmed. “And I want you to believe me.”

“Ok,” Peter said.

“Ok,” she agreed, then stepped close and grabbed the collar of the button down shirt he was wearing under his hoodie. She just needed something to hold onto while she threw herself into freefall by kissing him.

Peter did better than kiss her back. He shoved the straps of her backpack off her shoulders (good thing her laptop hadn’t been in there, or this kiss would’ve turned into a kick in the balls for him) and folded her tightly into his arms. While he was kissing her. Yeah, that was going on too.

It was tongues and grasping hands and her heart booming forward and his heart slamming back with their chests pressed together and Peter’s fingers shaking when he touched the nape of her neck. With the exception of his lips and his gentle fingers, every part of him was hard against her. _Every_ part of him.

They drew back at the same moment; MJ was studying Peter’s face too intently to tell if he was mirroring her.

“I’m kind of crazy about you,” he confessed, lightly running his hand across her cheek.

“Me too,” she panted.

“Awesome.”

The bell rang and they skittishly bolted from the classroom. He held the door for her.

Later, MJ realized she’d never actually agreed to the date, but when Peter called her that night, it gave her a chance to let him hear her say yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how are we feeling about the perspective switch? I wasn't planning to bounce between Peter and MJ when I started the story, but it came to feel necessary for multiple reasons, not the least of which being that MJ is a badass and will not be contained. Like I said last update, MJ's POV will appear every fifth chapter, meaning we'll return to her in a while. Next chapter, get ready to jump back into Peter's head and watch him haphazardly attempt to plan the first date of his life... with a little unexpected help. And I use the word "help" loosely...
> 
> P.S. We've hit 199 kudos as I prepare to post this update. Can you taste the 200th kudo? I can. It tastes like a Crispy Crunch mini chocolate bar. Woops, I've been eating the Halloween candy.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good Halloween, everyone?
> 
> Let's recap. In the last chapter, our couple had their first kiss, meaning the next step should be... say it with me... PETER TELLING NED! Wait, is that not what you said? Well, we'll coordinate better next time.
> 
> (And don't worry, MJ's in this chapter too.)

VI

“What?!” Ned yelped, pausing in the process of attempting to surreptitiously try on Peter’s Spidey suit (for the thousandth time).

“How many times to I need to say it before you believe me?”

“Run it by me again,” Ned requested, using both hands to wave in the information like he was landing a plane.

“MJ kissed me,” Peter repeated, slumping down to sit on the edge of his bed. “Yesterday. After decathlon.”

“WHAT?!”

Peter gave him a sharp look.

“Is that really helping?”

There was a quick knock at his bedroom door.

“Peter? Are you freaking Ned out by walking on the ceiling again? ‘Cause I think you should go easy on him, hun.”

He hauled himself up and opened the door with a sigh.

“Nope,” he told his aunt, “just catching him up on recent events.”

“Uh huuuuh,” May said with a grin, leaning into Peter’s doorjamb and crossing her arms. It was embarrassing how much she had enjoyed the story; she’d made him recount it six times. “Big news, huh, Ned?”

“Yes,” Ned blurted out. “And I can’t believe he didn’t tell me yesterday!”

“Well, we both know how Peter likes his secrets,” she said with a shrug.

Ned laughed.

“That’s true.”

“Standing right here,” Peter reminded them, looking from Ned by his bed to May in the doorway. “And it’s not a secret. I just…” He wandered over to his bed and fell onto his back. “…needed time to let it sink in.”

“Between you and me,” May said conspiratorially to Ned, “that hasn’t happened yet.” Peter groaned. “Ok, ok,” she conceded, backing away with her hands up. “I’ll be in the other room if you need me.”

As soon as she was gone, Ned rounded on Peter.

“So _MJ_ kissed _you?_ Was it intense? Was there tongue? Does she know you’re Spider-Man? Did she do it on purpose?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Peter quickly recounted, not wanting to dwell too long on the memory while Ned was right there, “absolutely not, and of _course_ it was on purpose! How could it have not been on purpose?”

“It’s just… _MJ_ ,” he reminded them both, sounding stunned.

“I know,” Peter agreed, equally baffled.

“Woooow,” Ned said after a minute, bouncing down to sit on the bed. “You guys were so low-key today.”

“Yeah, we haven’t really talked about what to do around our, uh, peers.”

“Your _peers?_ ” Ned chuckled. “What about your _other_ peers?”

Peter raised his eyebrows.

“You know… _Zoom! Zap! Pow! Zing! Smash! Fwip!_ ” he clarified, distilling several of the Avengers down into goofy noises and rapidly mimed fighting moves.

“Seeing as I _just_ told you she doesn’t know I’m Spider-Man, I’d say it’s safe to assume she doesn’t know I hang out with any of those guys.”

“Yeah, probably still thinks you made up that whole ‘I’ll invite Spider-Man to Liz’s party because he’s my pal’ thing too.”

“Probably.” Peter sat up. “How could she _possibly_ like me? I must have come across as an idiot so many times!”

“Yeah, but she’s always staring at you,” Ned said with a casual shrug.

“What?”

“She stares, dude.”

“Since when?!” This was news to Peter, who fixed widened eyes on his best friend’s fairly indifferent face.

“I don’t know, Peter, _awhile_ ,” Ned shot back in mild irritation. “I’m not your spy!”

“Crap. That reminds me. I’m going to have to tell Mr. Stark about this.” Peter got up to pace anxiously around his room as Ned watched.

“Why? Does she get some special perk for being the girlfriend of an Avenger? Does she get a costume? Does she get a bodyguard?”

“Uh, I don’t actually know, but Mr. Stark seemed kinda annoyed about us deactivating ‘Nanny Cam Protocol’ and he said he wanted updates from me.”

“First of all,” Ned ranted, “you better have kept _my_ name out of it. I want that guy to adore me and/or adopt me as his heir.”

“He’s never even met you,” Peter cut in.

“So don’t sully my reputation! Give him a chance to love me!”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Ok, was there a second thing coming?”

“Yes. Second of all, he wants to hear about who you make out with? Gross. What a perv. Third of all―”

“This better be the last thing,” Peter mumbled, getting tired of spending so much time talking about this. Maybe it was his own fault for inviting Ned over for a homework party and then trying to casually slip the MJ news between ‘What did you get for number seven?’ and ‘Did you find that handout super confusing or is it just me?’

“THIRD OF ALL,” Ned repeated more loudly, “how long do you think you can get away with being Spider-Man without her knowing? Seriously. Have you thought about it?”

“I’ve thought about it,” he admitted.

What Peter did not specify was the content of those thoughts, which largely revolved around him doing something superhuman for the sake of impressing MJ―even though that would be pretty selfish and wrong and probably result in a threatening email from Director Fury. _Or_ doing something superhuman to impress MJ that led to them having sex someplace totally mind-blowing, like against the Chrysler Building’s spire or in midair, hanging from the Statue of Liberty’s torch. Unless that would be too disrespectful.

“You think I should tell her?” he asked Ned honestly, shooting him a _give it to me straight_ look.

“Don’t ask me! This is your biggest secret!”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Ned.

“Didn’t you _want_ me to ask you?”

“Of course. I’m the guy in the chair.”

“Then tell me what you think! Please. I’m really asking here, Ned.”

His friend exhaled slowly and fixed Peter with his Wise Ned expression.

“I think you’ll just know if you should tell her,” he counselled sagely. “Don’t rush it and don’t freak out about it. An opportunity will present itself. Maybe soon.”

“You sound like a Magic 8-Ball.”

“Thank you,” Ned accepted cheerfully. “Can we get back to comparing homework answers now?”

“Yes,” Peter readily agreed. He slipped off the bed onto the floor and grabbed his notebook. “So for eight, I picked D, but MJ said she got E.”

“OH MY GOD, PETER, YOU’RE OBSESSED WITH HER!”

“SHE’S IN OUR CLASS!” he shouted back, startled.

And then, from the living room: “WHEN IS SHE COMING HERE FOR DINNER?”

* * *

Peter didn’t know where MJ lived. Well, no, he knew where she lived specifically, but not generally. Although he hadn’t _tried_ to learn her address, he’d seen it once on a school form and it was just one of those things his brain had decided to earmark as ‘Save Forever’―probably during the mental clear-out when he’d lost mid-century American poetry and the key dates of the Boer War.

So, he wasn’t attempting to track down the Jones home base when, on a restless night patrol after Ned left, Peter swung around a corner and spotted MJ leaning her elbows against a balcony less than half a block away. He speedily clung to the side of a building. This wasn’t spying, right? Peter worked on convincing himself as he crept closer. She was doing something, drawing maybe, but the notebook propped in front of her wasn’t quite at the right angle for Karen to zoom in on. MJ looked―wow―she looked pretty though, in a camisole and loose bottoms that must have been her pajamas. And jeeze, he guessed it was a little chilly tonight, because he could see… well, without her bra… he could…

When Peter heard himself sigh happily, he realized it was getting weird. He’d given MJ much more than the cursory glance he skimmed over everybody else still out and about tonight in Queens. He couldn’t justify staying―professionally. Personally, he really didn’t wanna go home yet. Peter soundlessly scaled the building and flipped over onto the roof.

“Hey, Karen?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Could you call Michelle? Jones?” Like there was more than one Michelle. Not on the whole planet, or what was beyond that either, as far as Peter was able to acknowledge with his heart doing something frantic in his chest.

“Of course,” the suit lady assured him. “Good luck, Peter.”

He hopped onto the edge of the roof and tried to breathe steadily as he heard MJ’s phone ring a couple dozen yards below.

“Peter?”

“Hey, MJ,” he said nervously.

“IT’S JUST PETER, MOM!” she shouted suddenly, sounding like she’d turned her head away from the phone. “PARKER!” Then, “So, you told Ned? He sent me a bunch of weird texts.”

“You haven’t told your mom?” he blurted out, gripping the ledge.

“What? Yeah, I sort of told her.”

“But… why am I ‘just Peter’?”

“Well, I’m trying to downplay it as much as possible so she doesn’t get, like, crazy protective.”

Peter swallowed.

“Right.”

“Besides, she already knows who you are, Peter.”

He felt his mouth go dry.

“Who―who I am?”

“Yep. You’re that loser in Academic Decathlon with me.”

“Oh.” He breathed heavily in relief before realizing he’d just been blindsided by an insult. “Wait, she thinks I’m a loser?”

“Just kidding.”

“Well, thank you for scaring the hell out of me.”

“You’re welcome. Can’t let you think I’ve completely changed now that we’ve… you know.”

The hungry kiss they’d shared in the empty classroom flashed before his mind’s eye.

“I know,” he whispered, wanting more than ever to drop down and land on the balcony next to her. It was unusually quiet for a long minute between the angry honking of cabs; quiet enough to hear MJ breathe. “So, I was thinking this weekend,” Peter finally said. “For the… date.” It wasn’t getting easier to say that word to her, though this was only the second time.

“That’ll be good. I mean, it sounds good. I don’t know if it _will_ be good, since I can’t travel into the future and check,” she babbled. Peter smiled at the thought that maybe he was making her a little bit nervous too. “I’m sure my mom will be cool with it.” Aaand he was right back to being more nervous than MJ probably was.

“That’s… reassuring,” he said, absolutely not reassured.

“I think she just has this weird, superhuman ideal when she imagines me dating someone,” MJ said with a frustrated sigh. Peter’s eyebrows rose. Bizarrely, ‘superhuman’ was the one expectation he’d actually be able to live up to. It kinda sucked that MJ couldn’t be in on it with him.

“That doesn’t intimidate me,” he said boldly. He felt himself sit up straighter.

“It doesn’t? I guess knowing me was good practice.”

Peter laughed quietly.

“See? I’m still intimidated enough by you that I let _you_ be the one to say that.” He heard a soft sound that might have been her laughing in return. “I’m gonna think of something great for us to do this weekend.”

“You better,” MJ challenged. It was sexy. Before he could think of what to say back, she’d hung up.

After that, a lot of the restless energy went out of Peter. He thought he’d head home, think about MJ, get to bed, think about MJ, start compiling a longlist of date ideas, and end his day with a few more thoughts about MJ―the kind that would have him gasping under the covers. Life was good. Life was sooo good.

“Mr. Stark for you, Peter,” Karen abruptly informed him.

“Oh, ok,” he said, backing up to the middle of the roof so he wouldn’t be distracted by thoughts of MJ below while taking the call.

“Gooood evening, Queens!” Mr. Stark exclaimed, making Peter jump.

“It’s actually, uh, almost midnight.” When _did_ evening end, technically? Peter wondered.

“Come on, kid. _Good Morning Vietnam_. You’ve never seen it? Classic. Classic.”

Peter frowned. It always took a minute or two to catch up with Mr. Stark’s train of thought. There was no getting ahead of it, but sometimes he could jump onto the back and hang off the side as it whizzed along. He assumed his mentor wasn’t calling to bestow movie recommendations―except that he absolutely could be. They’d had stranger talks.

“Uh, no. So, is something going on?”

“Did I wake you, sunshine?”

“No,” Peter hedged, “I’m still up.” The stealthy observation of MJ was something it felt better to keep to himself.

“Saving the world one street-meat cart at a time? I love that. You do you, buddy.”

“Thanks,” he said warily. “What are _you_ up to, Mr. Stark?”

“Oh, just havin’ a flip through the ol’ social planner and wondering when I’m going to see you for our next hangout. You know, where my eyes glaze over while you yammer on about the despicable criminal you saw spitting their gum on the sidewalk, then I drop tantalizing hints for my next update of your suit’s tech, and we wrap everything up with my pointed questions about your love life. How’s this weekend looking for you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't not mention that, last time I updated, I was excited about getting 1 more kudo to hit the 200 mark. Welp, I wished for 1 and got 81. Consider my socks knocked off. (Someone please help me find them because it's November now and my feet are freezing.) Also, I was absolutely thrilled by everyone's wonderful comments. It seems to me that there were about a billion of them (I'm rounding up―sue me), but regardless of specific number, it was the most comments I've ever received on a chapter for any of my stories. Thank you.
> 
> Next time on Peter & MJ: The Early Years: Tony gives bad advice and our couple plays touch football. Emphasis on the word that isn't "football."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I went and had a fast food hamburger last night for the first time in ages and the place was playing back-to-back '70s tracks. I clued in during the opening bars of "Hot Stuff." Sitting at night in a bright burger joint, pitch black outside, while peppy disco blares around you is incredibly surreal. Try it and report back.
> 
> The level of romance in this chapter has not yet reached "hot stuff," but boy, was that a great segue that I had no intention of making when I started typing this sentence. Now, what was I saying?

VII

It was way too much to stand there and process those comments, so Peter leapt from the building and started swinging homeward. Lucky that his suit covered his hands, because his palms were getting sweaty with the sudden imperative to allude to the social highlight of his entire life: a date with MJ.

“I actually have plans,” he informed Mr. Stark.

Peter’s electric borough flickered as he made his webby commute. Streetlights, headlights, living rooms and televisions inside the apartments where people were still up. There was something so calming about all those glowing signs of life. Normally.

“Plans?” Tony pressed, sounding curious rather than annoyed. At least that meant he didn’t think Peter was trying to blow him off.

“Yep,” he confirmed, reaching his own apartment building and easing through the bedroom window he left unlocked for himself.

“Better, more interesting plans than a tech update and a cutthroat game of Monopoly?”

“I hate Monopoly,” Peter muttered, sliding his window shut and dropping to the floor.

“I’m just going to ignore that and skip right to remarking on this being the first time _ever_ that you weren’t prepared to come when I called.”

“That’s a really unhealthy dynamic to make a habit of,” he counselled. Maybe Peter sounded like the adult here, but Mr. Stark was acting kinda spoiled.

“Well, whatever,” he replied moodily. “ _Tough_ , kid. Tell me right now who or what you’re passing me over for.”

“I have a… date.” _Quit tripping over that word_ , he thought to himself.

“How dare you disable ‘Nanny Cam Protocol’ the very week your life becomes interesting?!” Tony scolded.

“ _Hey_ ,” Peter complained, offended.

“Kidding, kid. You’re just as interesting and special as everyone else. Didn’t you get that participation trophy I had made for you after we kicked Thanos’s ass?”

“Found it in my room at the compound,” he grumbled.

“Really? I was hoping Barton would be a little more creative than that, or else I would’ve picked someone else to surprise you with it.”

“Mr. Stark?” Peter interrupted as his mentor trailed off into preoccupied mumbling.

“Yep?”

“We’re good about this weekend, right? I can come another time, but this is really important to me. I gotta―”

“Is it Michelle? Er, MJ?” Tony cut in. “I need to know I was right when I guessed there was something going on there.”

“Some guess,” Peter criticized, lowering his voice to a hiss when he heard May shuffling around in another part of their apartment. “ _You were listening to all my conversations!_ ”

“Well, seeing as you weren’t exactly reciting erotic poetry to this girl, I think I still deserve some credit for making that leap of understanding.”

“Fine. You guessed right. I’m sorry about this weekend, but I’ll get over there soon.”

“What? No! Definitely this weekend,” Tony insisted.

“I just explained about MJ…”

“Bring her.”

“I…” Peter was genuinely speechless. The Avengers compound was sacred ground in his opinion and, while he would never categorize MJ as unworthy, it sure surprised him that Mr. Stark wasn’t either. Then again, Iron Man was still the only one of the team to go around openly declaring his identity. (He’d done it once in a Starbucks drive-through with Peter in the backseat beside him. From the look on Happy’s face, that wasn’t the kind of thing that got easier to tolerate over time.)

“Bring. Her.”

“She’s not very…” Peter wracked his brain for an excuse; this was way too intense for a first date activity. “…friendly.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ve heard her shut you down a time or two. I guess persistence pays off, huh kid?”

Peter sighed, fishing his pajamas out from under his pillow, where he’d shoved them when Ned came over.

“She doesn’t know, ok? How can I explain an impromptu trip to the super restricted Avengers compound when all MJ knows about my link to the Avengers is that I _used to be_ your intern?”

“You’re still obsessed with me and you miss me? No,” Tony amended, “that would bode poorly for a potential future breakup between the two of you. Ok… You’re coming to clean out your desk?”

“And I would want to do that on a date because…?”

“You’re trying to impress her. Like, ‘oops, I forgot, I better do this before that brilliant billionaire Mr. Stark gets impatient with me and oh look, MJ, is that the Black Widow walking through the lobby? Yeah, I know her. Why don’t we stay awhile?’”

“Just… no,” Peter groaned, trying not to yawn.

“Here’s a thought,” Tony piped up perkily. “Why not tell her the truth?”

“The truth?” He was fighting to keep blinking instead of letting his eyes close for seven hours like they wanted to.

“Yeah, tell her you’re Spider-Man.”

“Is that… I mean, is that a good idea?” Peter slapped his face gently, this sudden serious turn making him want to stay awake.

“Sure,” Tony said unconvincingly. “Why not?”

“You _genuinely_ think I should tell her?”

“You like her, don’t you?”

“I really like her.”

“And you trust her?”

“I think so.”

“She doesn’t seem the type to scratch ‘Peter Parker is Spider-Man’ into a bathroom stall or use this juicy piece of information to win herself a better, more interesting boyfriend?”

“Hey! But, no. MJ’s so, so private,” Peter promised, still trying to separate the bad advice from the outright insults.

“And this is the sort of thing that would impress her, correct?”

“I mean, probably, but I couldn’t say for sure.”

“Oooh, I like the sounds of this MJ. You gotta bring her over,” Tony demanded.

“You sound like May.”

“Did May advise you to tell this girl your secret identity?”

“Obviously not,” Peter said, really tired now.

“Then I’m still the irresponsible one. Good, that should help me get to sleep.”

“You _never_ sleep.”

“True,” Mr. Stark immediately agreed. His voice sounded distracted, attention probably drifting to some new project he wanted to fiddle with.

“Do you mind if _I_ do?” Peter wondered.

“Go for it. Let’s talk soon though. I need to know exactly how you spring this on her. Ciao.”

Peter couldn’t really remember agreeing to share his greatest secret, but as soon as he shook off his suit and crawled into bed, he stopped worrying about it.

* * *

“You wanna tell me now?” MJ prompted as they squared off on opposite sides of a starting line marked by a pinnie hung from a golf club, the handle of which had been driven into the ground.

Peter chuckled and broke away from her as the gym teacher’s whistle blew, performing a clean hook that left him open to receive the football―except his school’s jock types only ever passed to each other (even if it meant a fumble or interception).

“How ‘bout now?” she tried again, walking back to the new down several plays later after swatting the ball out of somebody’s hands. Peter was pretty sure the guy had been a member of the team MJ had been assigned to, not that she seemed to care. He shook his head, then followed her with his eyes as she strode past him. Seeing her legs gave him a whole new appreciation for the mandatory, boring gym shorts.

“You’ve got nothing, don’t you?” MJ taunted. Peter shrugged and slipped her once again as soon as the whistle sounded.

He never would’ve considered irritating this girl to be fun or a good idea from the standpoint of his personal safety and yet, holding back the location of their upcoming date was pretty enjoyable. Peter didn’t even want to let himself think the word, but today’s blended boys’ and girls’ gym class of touch football was, for him, bordering on… foreplay.

In spite of the 50 other people on the immaculate green field, he could only think about playing with her. And the game in his head wasn’t football. The longer he put MJ off, the more she pushed back with questions until, abruptly, she switched over to her classically reticent behaviour―ignoring Peter completely. Totally unfair, he thought. Worse than that, she started focusing on the game.

“Hey!” she shouted at her team’s quarterback as Peter was covering her from a touch- _only_ football acceptable distance. “You! With the ball! I have long arms and I’m open!”

The ball came sailing in her direction and… no. An adrenaline-charged tingle went up his arms. He wasn’t going to let her concentrate on football over him. What Peter _did_ allow was MJ to catch the ball. Her gym shirt untucked from her shorts and when he dove, his palm landed on the warm bare skin of her stomach. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her to the grass. Tangled up with him.

“Why are you so good at this?” MJ huffed, letting the ball roll away without concern.

“Which part?” Peter joked, smiling until he realized he’d unthinkingly moved his hand down to her upper thigh. Also, that he was maybe a little more pressed against her than it was really a good idea to be. Especially when MJ stopped looking into his eyes and started looking at his lips.

The gym teacher blew his whistle shrilly.

“TOUCH-ONLY! TOUCH-ONLY!”

MJ extricated herself from Peter with a sigh.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Robertson,” she droned to the teacher. “We definitely touched.”

“Parker, I should make you sit out for the rest of the period,” the teacher threatened as Peter sprang to his feet.

“Can you not?” Cindy called out wearily from several yards away. “He’s the only one not tired.”

Peter glanced around. It was true; the rest of his classmates were red-faced and breathing hard. Right, he should probably get better at faking physical exhaustion. He met his teacher’s eye and was given a pathetic shrug that said he could stay in the game. Typical gym class―it was more important to be tough than to play fair.

“Are you ok?” Peter earnestly asked MJ when he could. He’d tried to hold her gently, but a tackle was still a tackle.

She tapped the next closest member of Peter’s team on the shoulder.

“Switch with me,” MJ demanded, pulling off her pinnie.

“Why?” the girl inquired suspiciously.

“Switch with me and you won’t have to worry.”

“About what?”

“What indeed?” MJ whispered. The girl’s eyes widened and she quickly made the trade before edging along to the opposite end of the lineup.

“As you were saying?” MJ turned to Peter, dragging him a little ways off to the side so the play could go on without them.

“I wanted to make sure I hadn’t hurt you when, when I…” He could feel himself turning red.

“You didn’t hurt me, Peter,” she assured him with a small smile. He sighed in relief. “But don’t get used to being on top,” MJ added, then turned and headed back towards the school. Peter was dumbstruck. The bell rang through the outdoor loudspeakers seconds later. “By the way,” she shouted back at him, “what you’re feeling right now? That’s for not telling me what we’re doing this weekend.”

* * *

Peter decided to walk MJ home at the end of the day. Skipping the Spidey shift felt reasonable after he considered that he’d probably be doing an extra-long patrol the next night when pre-Saturday jitters kept him from getting to sleep. That, plus the tether she had (inadvertently? Hard to say) tied to him after her suggestive comment in gym class, had Peter practically bouncing along beside her. Only superhuman senses and reflexes could stop him from running into someone, or something, or falling down an open manhole. Everything sorta gravitated around MJ once Peter laid eyes on her, no matter where they were. He was still getting used to that.

“I’m not going to get lost, you know.” She gave him a bored look after breaking the silence she’d been maintaining for blocks. Apparently, he was still being frozen out for withholding date details.

“I know,” Peter lightly acknowledged.

“Are you just trying to find out where I live?”

“Come _on_ , MJ. I know where you live,” he said thoughtlessly, then saw her sharply turn her head to demand an explanation. “I mean, vaguely. Not, uh, definitely not specifically. And don’t you think I should know?”

“I guess,” MJ allowed.

“Then why are you giving me such a tough time?” Peter asked with a laugh, elbowing her arm.

“Because,” she said coldly. He skipped ahead of her, walking backwards, and raised his eyebrows until MJ gave in with a roll of her eyes. “I can’t change everything at once, Peter,” she admitted. “I don’t know who we are without certain ways of behaving.”

“Who _we_ are?” He didn’t really get it.

“Who _I_ am, ok? Maybe you wouldn’t… maybe you wouldn’t like me if I was different.” MJ shoved her hands into her pockets and drifted enough away from him that some guy walking in the opposite direction squeezed between them.

“I don’t know if I’d exactly miss how you hate me like 90 percent of the time,” he joked, navigating back into closer proximity. “But what do you mean? That you want to be different around me?”

MJ’s mouth pinched like she wanted to answer, but something in her was wrestling that urge to the ground. She turned her face away while Peter exhaled in disappointment. Just when she seemed to want to run from their conversation, they were stopped by a flashing hand as a streetlight turned from amber to red. He grabbed her forearm, not hard.

“Tell me what you mean. Please?” Peter requested.

She turned towards him with her body before she managed to look him in the eye, gaze lowered for ages while he stood there wondering.

“I think things could be different between us.”

“Like the other day?” he prompted. “When you kissed me?”

Peter was shocked when MJ flushed.

“Yeah, like that for example.” Their light went green and as they started to walk, MJ seemed to stay on the roll he’d gotten her on. “It’s just confusing to try to guess how things would be if I let you see other parts of myself. Parts of my personality,” she brusquely clarified, making Peter feel suddenly sleazy even though he hadn’t even had time to start thinking of another meaning for her words. “Do you have any concept of how that might feel?”

As MJ pierced him with dark, searching eyes, Peter tried not to show how deeply he felt her question. Worries about letting her see another side of himself? Hell yes, that was something he could relate to! Naturally, he was curious as to what MJ was concealing―or at least moderating―about herself, but he really doubted it was as big a deal as a crime-fighting alter ego. Peter wanted to tell her that, but the secret felt like it was rolling around on his tongue like a gumball in one of those old, round vending machines with the metal slides, except his internal gum slide didn’t have an exit. Not yet.

Peter only sighed.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Do you though?” MJ pressed. She jerked on his sleeve to stop him at a street corner. He knew her apartment was just down from where they stood. “You wear everything on your sleeve.” She glanced at the place she was hanging onto him and let go. “I don’t know if you could really hide anything. I mean, I used to think you were hiding something…”

“Would that change anything? Between you and me?” he asked, knowing he was looking into her face with that same openness she’d just pointed out. MJ shrugged.

“I don’t think any secret _you_ could have would really be that bad. I’m interested though.”

“Yeah?” He grinned.

MJ nodded confidently, squinting her eyes playfully at Peter as she seemed to assess him and decide he was worth knowing more about. He felt weirdly privileged to see all that going on in her eyes. It made him a little giddy, so before he could second-guess himself, Peter slid his hand around the back of her neck. When she didn’t object to his fingers trailing higher, into her hair to hold the back of her head, Peter pulled MJ in and kissed her. Moving his mouth against hers progressed with an unearthly smoothness; in the heat of it, he wasn’t even surprised when her hand found his chest and scrunched his t-shirt with fingers that gradually grasped a little more.

She drew back after a minute and, hypnotized, Peter watched her slowly roll her lips together like she was squashing their kiss into place, stamping it to make it last longer. Boy, his heart was going like one of Mr. Stark’s fully-electric perpetual motors. People kept flowing around them, sometimes jostling them (the moment was magical, but hey, these were still New Yorkers), and Peter just didn’t care. He stared at MJ and it felt too good.

“I’m gonna…” Her words faded and she raised a loose arm to jerk back over her shoulder with her thumb. “I should get home. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Peter was shrugging and nodding and generally reacting in every affirmative way his body could come up with without also thinking of how to act dignified or, at the minimum, normal. He was pretty sure he gave her a thumbs up. _Stop_ , he told himself. _Where’s the kill switch for auto-dork?_

MJ was giving him a smile and twisting away. At the last second, Peter caught her waist and dragged her back into another, briefer kiss.

“Still interested,” she promised with a smirk, giving his chest a pat and heading home.

At that point, getting shoved off the sidewalk and swept into a sewer grate by a streetcleaner wouldn’t have ruined Peter’s day. He was too excited to continue walking back to his and May’s apartment, so he ran. After two blocks, Peter ducked into a convenient alley for a quick clothing change and hurtled a rusty dumpster to climb the wall. This―MJ’s tentatively-expressed yearning for them to show more of themselves to each other―could really be his opening to reveal that he was Spider-Man. It was a chance he hadn’t seen coming. With the assistance of his web shooters, Peter caught himself like he always did. Even so, from the first leap, swinging felt like flying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, these two will actually head out on their date, I swear it to you. Because I know I'll be flooded with comments if I don't tell you now, my preferred hamburger toppings are lettuce, tomato, double pickles, and mayonnaise. (Are we collectively hating my sense of humour yet? Don't answer that.)
> 
> Thoughts on Peter and Tony this chapter? Peter and MJ? There was a moment there where Peter veered dangerously towards emotional-range-of-a-teaspoon... but wait, wrong franchise.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for the date. Take a deep breath before you start reading; you might be able to smell Peter's nerves from there.
> 
> (And my excitement. Ah! We're so close to 400 kudos! This is madness! Thank you all so, so much. You are deeply appreciated.)

VIII

He couldn’t remember Friday when it was over, and it wasn’t even because one of his amateur detecting exploits had left him concussed or because some other superhuman had screwed around with his brain. Friday just… happened… and Peter didn’t have the spare thought capacity to devote to it. It was all about Saturday now.

As he was waking, MJ was already on his mind. She was every bit of his fantasies from before, but closer now in his subconscious, more real because he knew how her lips yielded against his. How her body felt when he landed on top of her. Sleeping Peter took hold of that recent memory and pulled it down into drowsy oblivion the way a drowning person dragged down a rescuer. He just needed five more minutes… five more perfect minutes with her…

MJ was there, in front of him, and Peter tackled her onto her back. Except it wasn’t a long, hard fall to a lawn mown with anal precision, but a short, soft drop onto a thick mattress. This time, he wasn’t embarrassed about finding his hands on her, and (evidently) neither was she, pulling him closer. MJ was talking to him and even though he couldn’t quite understand what she was saying, it filled Peter with something warm and comfortable. It took him back to the Sunday mornings of his childhood, wriggling into the pile of still-warm laundry his mom had upended on her bed before folding it. He thought he was leaning down to hear MJ better, until he remembered, right, that he was grinding himself between her legs and what she was saying―boy, he’d never heard her say anything like that in his life. Because she was asking him to… _telling_ him to…

Goddammit. Mr. Robertson was blowing his whistle. No tackles allowed. No tackles… Peter woke up and realized his alarm was going off. Specifics of the dream dribbled away like mustard off a hot dog held at a precarious angle, though he was left with two things: a strangely powerful feeling of annoyance towards his gym teacher and a tent in his pajama bottoms so successfully pitched it could’ve been featured in a high-end camping supplies catalogue. He rolled his face into his pillow and groaned for a solid 15 seconds. It was decently therapeutic.

Peter was banking on a dog’s breakfast of nervousness, excitement, horniness, and, well, actual breakfast to propel him through the day. As such, he’d made his wakeup time fairly early―not that it stopped him from double-checking the hallway for sights or sounds of May before sprinting to the bathroom. Any conversation about his ‘changing body’ prompted by his aunt noticing what he had going on in the southern half of his PJs was not one he wanted to have this morning. Or _ever_ , but specifically not this morning. Thanks to advanced planning, Peter was able to let himself enjoy a hot shower that was about one-quarter soap/shampoo/rinse and three-quarters frenzied masturbation fueled entirely by his new favourite MJ quote: ‘don’t get used to being on top.’ Maybe he’d think of a suave comeback to fire at MJ later, but as he squeezed his eyes shut and felt the palm of the hand not furiously jerking himself off slip against the slick shower wall, the only thing coming out of Peter’s mouth was a dry groan.

He felt great after that―morning of champions. The tough part was not rushing straight over to MJ’s to pick her up. There was a plan. There were steps. There was a hired car (no Happy, he’d been told, but oh well) coming to get him, then making a stop to collect his date before heading out of the city en route to the Avengers compound. It would be a drive long enough to conduct a significant conversation. Which could be about, oh, his recent trip off-planet if he wanted it to be. Peter still wasn’t sure.

May had been giving him manageable pieces of first date advice for days, but she’d stopped trying to have the ‘do I tell her I’m a superhero’ conversation after one attempt. She wanted to help; it was Peter’s fault for being so uncertain. He could talk himself in and out of it as quickly as he talked about anything else and had, in fact, mostly held the debate with himself representing both sides. In bed, while he gazed up into darkness. In the bathroom, while he stared at his own helpless face in the mirror. It was so frustrating that this wasn’t like math, where Peter knew there was a right answer and he just needed to get to it. This was more like chemistry (what a coincidence). There was no guide, no expected result, only blind experimenting. Except he _couldn’t_ experiment, seeing as he had one shot at telling MJ he was Spider-Man. Peter longed for trial and error, complete with the opportunity for notetaking, and the ability to set the whole thing aside if it turned into a mess.

At five minutes before he expected the car, Peter was by the door, throwing on a light jacket (a hoodie didn’t seem nice enough for the occasion) and making sure he had his apartment key, his phone, and his wallet when May approached and leaned expectantly against the wall.

“What did you decide?”

He thought of his backpack, just inside the door of his bedroom. It was packed―not with books, but with his Spidey suit―in case he wanted to grab it.

“Man, I don’t know,” Peter whined, circling the floor just inside their apartment like a dog about to lie down. “Mostly I’m scared that Mr. Stark’s gonna say something to her.”

“Nooo, honey,” May insisted with a sympathetic frown. “Tony Stark might be a troublemaker and a control freak, but I’m sure he’ll be respectful about this. It’s your choice,” she assured him, “and just so you’re prepared…”

May held up a finger and strode away from Peter, returning with his backpack’s handle gripped in her fist. She extended it towards him.

“This way, you have options. You have a bad habit of making last second decisions, you know that?”

“I’m working on that,” he said with a sheepish smile, accepting his bag and slinging it over a shoulder. “I should probably be down there when the car pulls up.”

“Alright.” May gave him a quick hug and the _be careful, be good, be nice_ look she’d been giving him just about every day since becoming his guardian.

“How did you know?” Peter wondered, turning back as he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hall. He pointed at his backpack for clarification.

May laughed like he’d said something super amusing.

“Please. Now that I know, I _know_ ,” she emphasized. “The habits are the one part of the superhero thing that I can actually monitor. What a weight off my mind it’s been knowing why you kept going through backpacks like they were sticks of gum.”

Peter shrugged.

“Some people are bad about taking what isn’t theirs,” he said, walking to the stairs.

“Well, you go take what _is_ yours,” May commanded, leaning out into the hall to watch Peter bound down the stairwell. After a pause, she called after him, “By which I mean respect and understanding and acceptance! Not… Don’t take anything else from, you know, anyone!”

Positive that his aunt was trying to recover from phrasing that sounded like a potential blessing to engage in teenage sex, Peter booked it out of the building to find a glossy black car coming to a stop against the curb right in front of him. His phone vibrated in his pocket and Peter read a message from Tony himself saying that the transport should’ve just arrived (complete with a picture). Jeeze, Peter might’ve been a little naïve, but he really wished Mr. Stark would stop acting like he was about to bumble into a stranger’s car and become a kidnapping victim.

He hauled the door open and hopped in.

“Hey,” Peter greeted, looking down as he fastened his seatbelt. He glanced quickly back up. “I’m―”

There was no driver. His phone vibrated again.

 _By the way, there’s no driver_ , said Mr. Stark’s text. Then, _The car’s been programmed to drive to Michelle’s apartment, then on from there_.

Yep, Peter could confirm that; it was already pulling smoothly into a break in morning traffic that was steady but not bumper-to-bumper. So that meant he could freak out for the next couple of minutes without the distraction of another human being to talk to. Had this part of the journey been longer, Peter thought he probably would’ve pulled out his suit just to speak to Karen. Have her talk him through a refresher course on some aspect of his tech, or just read him a recipe for peanut butter cookies. _Anything_. Peter was a talkative guy by nature. If his mouth couldn’t chatter, his brain would.

“Uh, don’t leave without us,” he spoke to the inside of the car as it swung to the curb in front of MJ’s apartment building. It didn’t do anything in response, but Peter took his chances and hopped out.

On the sidewalk, he looked up and scratched his head. Should he wait here? Buzz her apartment? Call? MJ solved the dilemma for him by pushing the door of the building open and stepping out. _Oh boy, oh shit_ , he thought. They were just jeans, and still Peter kept looking at her legs like he’d never seen them. They were Saturday legs on a weekday girl. She had just crossed over from Regular to Special by appearing in front of him at a time and in a place that had nothing to do with school. It was a little… unprecedented.

“Hey,” Peter blurted. “Hi.”

MJ smirked at him. Was his nervousness calming her? Totally unfair.

“Hey-hi yourself, Peter.”

Oh god, and now she’d said his name. Had it always sounded that possessive coming from her?

“Um,” he started over, lingering probably an awkward distance from her, “you look really nice today. Every day.”

“Thanks.”

“Is your mom ok with you being gone the whole day? I should’ve asked that before.”

“She won’t even notice,” MJ said with a careless shake of her head. Peter’s eyebrows raised and she waved a hand at him. “Not because she doesn’t care. Because she’s working. It’s totally fine.”

“Oh. Ok. Well, in that case, we’re taking this car out of the city.”

Should he hold her hand? He couldn’t make up his mind, so Peter just led MJ to the car and opened the door for her while she gave him a suspicious look.

“No driver?” she asked while he climbed in next to her and slammed the door.

“Nah, Mr. Stark sent it.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” MJ muttered as they merged into the street.

Peter shrugged.

“He likes to show off.”

MJ swept her gaze around the inside of the back seat like she was suddenly prepared to be extra critical now that she knew some billionaire was maybe trying to impress her.

“You brought your backpack?” she asked, pointing to where Peter had half-shoved it under one of the front seats.

“Uh, habit,” he lied. “Always had it with me when I used to go meet Mr. Stark.”

“Is that what we’re doing?”

“Kind of.”

“Just so you know,” MJ informed him, “this is the part where you start being very clear about the plan for this date so that picking me up in a fancy inconspicuous car with―” she rapped her window with a knuckle, “―unusually dark tinted glass seems a little less like kidnapping.”

“The Avengers compound,” Peter admitted. “Upstate.”

She looked as surprised as he’d ever seen her. Which was not a significant amount of surprised.

“Huh,” MJ concluded, propping her chin on her fist while she assessed him. “And I had you pegged for the kind of guy whose idea of a first date was going for ice cream and catching a geeky matinee.”

Despite her scrutiny, Peter smiled.

“If you really thought that’s who I was,” he countered, in his mind lightly touching her knee and in reality not touching her at all in fear that he wouldn’t want to stop, “you would never have wanted to go out with me.”

MJ frowned and shrugged.

“I might still have _wanted_ to, I just _wouldn’t_ have.”

“So _did_ you expect something like this?” Peter found himself leaning towards her, knees spread wide enough that she could bump into the closest one if she wanted.

“I’ve actually stopped trying to anticipate this,” MJ confessed, “since you have yet to do or be anything like what I expect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing May. But also MJ. Erg, I'm torn. If you too find yourself on the fence about picking a favourite character (how I flatter myself that you have a favourite character in my story―appalling), perhaps next chapter will help you decide by watching two of them go head-to-head. That's right, we've almost reached the MJ VS. TONY: SNARK BATTLE. Truly, a clash for the ages. Maybe they'll get their own inspirational trilogy, complete with training montage. I mean, after "Creed II," there'll be a void in the market for that kind of thing, right? (Teasing only. No offense intended towards the series. "Rocky" is one of my top five favourite movies of all time, easy.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Is this a kissing fanfic?" you ask yourself, paraphrasing that kid from The Princess Bride. Not because you're horrified at the thought, but because you are waiting for the romance, you are perhaps frustrated at the author for continually aiming below the tantalizing E rating. And, oh, the author understands and promises kissing in both this chapter and the next one.
> 
> Sidenote. Thorongil82! mjauu! Lara! Mina! inasentimentalmood! Obi_Sean_Kenobi! tvfanatic97! Thank you all for your wonderful comments on chapter 8! It's truly a thrill to read your thoughts and kind words. I appreciate the time you take to do something that makes me happy.

IX

There was nothing like spending a quiet stretch of time alone in a car with someone, Peter was finding, for forcing conversation. It was more like being on a plane, or maybe a train, because he didn’t have to worry about who was driving. Yeah, maybe a train, without flight attendants wheeling snacks up and down the aisle. There were snacks though, which he and MJ found fast enough. Peter suspected that their internal New Yorker clocks had a particular alarm set for brunch and so they indulged that craving with a really weird mix of local organic health products and foreign chocolate bars that had unpronounceable names; all he knew was they weren’t Spanish, because he was doing pretty well in that class these days.

When they neared the compound, Peter received another message from Tony: _How are we playing this?_ All he could do was respond that MJ didn’t know his secret. Would that still be true by the end of the day? He didn’t know. Hell, he didn’t know if it’d be true by the end of the _hour_. Maybe something about this place―his sort of home away from home―would make him feel like opening up to her. A little doubtful right now, considering their car chat had been a combination of their typical cafeteria interactions and MJ absolutely grilling him with questions, which, by and large, he wasn’t allowed to answer. He thought. (Peter still felt there would’ve been merit to a good guy contract that laid these things out for him a little bit.)

“So you guys, like, friends?” MJ asked, jerking her chin at the phone Peter was slipping back into his pocket. He’d told her it was Stark beforehand.

“Me and Mr. Stark? Well, no, not exactly. He’s just a cool guy.”

“Must be,” she answered flatly, glancing out the window, “to let you come by and hang out. With a date.”

Peter practically felt her lean into that last word.

“He said he really needed me to come up this weekend. I told him I had plans and he kind of forced me to invite you,” he said with a soft laugh.

MJ narrowed her eyes.

“You didn’t want to?”

“No, I did!” Crap. “I mean, I wanted us to have a good first date, because I’m so scared of screwing this up, but I wasn’t sure about this. When Mr. Stark insisted on it, I don’t know,” Peter started gesturing wildly with his hands, “I felt kind of jealous about sharing my time with you with _him_ , not that it’d be weird like that. Only then I felt guilty, because obviously most people would never get an opportunity to come here, so I shouldn’t stop you from having that. Although, the whole thing is a little strange because it’s like somebody else is getting to impress you on _our_ date. You… you know?” he finished, forehead scrunching pleadingly.

“Yeah,” MJ granted.

Peter laughed his sudden jitteriness away. Amazingly, MJ finally bumped her knee into his and tossed him a smile. He wasn’t sure if it was just her being companionable, but it felt like the time to find out, so he let his hand drape across that knee, watching himself touch her, then looking into her eyes. Except her eyes weren’t looking at his face, they were looking at his chest. Next, her hand was there, finger tracing the short track between the closed buttons of his shirt. Peter was paralyzed―every part of him besides his hand, which was sliding up to hold the top of her thigh. He was startled by how loudly MJ exhaled. He was startled right into the beginnings of an erection.

Like he’d been pushed, Peter jolted forward (just a couple of inches in his seat, since he was still wearing his seatbelt) and MJ rapidly swept their car-picnic detritus to the floor. The rolling crinkle of wrappers was a nice offset to the heavy thud of his heart under her hand.

“Well,” MJ said, also shifting closer with apparent eagerness, “now’s your chance, Peter. Impress me before anyone else has a shot at it.”

And then he was kissing her hungrily, hands leaping to sneak under the back of her sweater where her seatbelt could not impede him. Peter hadn’t even realized he wanted to touch her there, feeling the dip of her lower back, but now he couldn’t get enough. MJ had her hands on his face, running them over his skin and into his hair with a fleeting clench of her fists that made Peter’s hand jump higher, caressing her bare waist.

 _What am I doing?_ he thought. _Where is this going?_ Evidently it was going to France, because his tongue was suddenly raring to get involved, teasing hers more and more as she gradually opened her mouth. (Jesus, he was hard.) There was a subtle sexiness to it that he felt undeserving of. Peter freed one hand to cup the back of MJ’s neck, letting the kiss play coy… until he decisively pressed his advantage and took her mouth more deeply. She made a noise that told him it was a welcome development and dug into his hair with her fingers.

He’d learned―not easily―how to have two sides: Peter and Spider-Man. It was earthshattering to find out he might have more, and that one of those had been waiting specifically for MJ.

“This is what was missing, isn’t it?” Peter breathed when MJ pulled back a little to kiss his face. “When we were just friends.”

She scratched her nails down the back of his neck.

“We found it now,” she stated with a lazy smirk that she quickly pressed to his throat, making Peter gasp.

As he was shaping his hand to MJ’s jaw, the car stopped. All that meant to Peter for a few seconds was that it was safe to undo his seatbelt. He freed himself with a click and slid across the seat, grabbing the underside of MJ’s closest knee and pulling her leg over his. She angled into him and ran a hand down his neck and over to his shoulder, which she grasped to make Peter curve his body around hers. Between breathing (panting) and hyperawareness of the proximity of MJ’s outer thigh to his dick (holy hell), Peter repositioned his hand on her waist, inching higher and higher. Before he knew it, he could feel the rise that meant his hand lay against the lower edge of her bra. Peter was trying not to quantify his romantic progress here, but ‘SECOND BASE’ was flashing in his mind like the broken neon sign of the crappy pizza place up the block from his apartment.

Which was, of course, the moment Peter’s phone began vibrating in his pocket at a frequency that complimented a flickering bulb so well, the mockery was almost painful. What beat it was the feeling of having to voluntarily break apart from MJ. He gave her yearning eyes before glancing at his screen. Mr. Stark had texted, _I’m not some ‘50s gas station jockey―you come to me when the car stops, not the other way around_. Then, while he was still holding the phone, _Get your Spidey butt in here, kid_.

Peter jerked his head around, realizing they had arrived at the compound. _Ok_ , he thought frantically. _I’m calm, I’m calm, I’m calm. I am_ not _aroused_.

“We’re here,” he belatedly informed his date.

“I know,” MJ assured him uninterestedly, “but I’m on your schedule, not some whiny billionaire’s.”

“Fair enough,” Peter acknowledged, tapping his foot restlessly as his mind started to skip ahead to introducing Tony to MJ. “You wanna go in now anyway?”

“Why? Does Stark have to go down for a nap soon?”

His eyes widened at MJ’s snarkiness. Ok, yes, this was within the bounds of her everyday behaviour, but jeeze, Peter hadn’t considered that _she’d_ be the one to make trouble; as much as he respected and admired Mr. Stark, he knew MJ’s heavy-handed implications that the guy could be childish were pretty spot-on. Asking her to tamp down the impulse to openly criticize his mentor felt totally wrong, but what could he do? Peter was panicking a little. Suddenly, something occurred to him. MJ loved to give her honest opinion, even (especially, sometimes) when it was blunt. What she never did was castigate without reason. The fact that Stark was so privileged and arrogant that he’d put his name on a skyscraper, while unusually self-entitled, would not be enough to earn the poised sarcasm MJ wielded so well. She was jealous, Peter realized with a private, self-satisfied smile. She didn’t want to share him.

“I promise this place is cool,” he said, elbowing his door open and grabbing MJ’s hand. “If Mr. Stark gets a little too…” Peter couldn’t find a word for it. “… Mr. Stark-y, we’ll go off on our own. Or go back to the city,” he added, watching MJ’s face as he tried to assess her reaction. “Whatever you want.”

“Really? Me over Stark?” she asked coolly, lifting her chin.

Peter gave her an easy smile.

“You bet. This is the first time I’ve ever made out with somebody on the way here.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to ask _that_ uncomfortable question. I knew you and Stark were close…”

“Gross, MJ. Cut it out.”

She laughed and let him tug her out of the car. Just before he slammed the door, Peter remembered his backpack and swiftly retrieved it.

“May would kill me if I lost another one,” he explained when MJ gave him a suspicious look.

There weren’t any probing follow-up questions this time, so Peter led her to the compound, frequently glancing at her to check her expression. MJ was definitely taking it all in.

Just inside the doors, Mr. Stark greeted them, arms held out to his sides. _At least he’s not wearing the suit_ , Peter thought. That would’ve been embarrassing and yet all too easy to imagine.

“Peter! Finally, my arms were getting tired,” Tony called out.

MJ narrowed her eyes.

“Don’t you guys have a gym here?” she asked, not waiting for introductions. Mr. Stark looked thrown.

“Uh, yes we do. You must be Michelle.”

“It’s MJ,” Peter cut in.

“It’s Michelle,” MJ corrected. Right, he recalled. The nickname was a friends-only thing. So, this was going well. Peter laughed awkwardly. “And my point is that maybe you should get in there a little more. Do some strength training.”

Peter was horrified. Also, he _really_ wished he could laugh.

“ _Right_ ,” Tony replied slowly, expression getting less friendly. “See, that’s what we call a back-burner concern around here. Saving the entire universe? More of a priority.”

MJ only stared back and Peter could see in Mr. Stark’s face how much he would’ve preferred her to argue―so that he could feel that he’d won somehow, Peter knew. Deprived, he turned to his protégé.

“Good drive? Enjoy the new car?” Peter was nodding enthusiastically. “Try any of those dehydrated sweet potato chip things?”

“A little dry,” MJ remarked.

“Because that’s the whole point of dehydrating…” Tony said sharply before smoothing out his tone, “…I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Why?” she challenged. “ _You_ didn’t make them.”

Tony looked to Peter. His eyes so clearly communicated the sentiment, _She’s kidding me, right?_ that Peter almost answered aloud.

“Hey, you guys!” Pepper called, stepping through a set of doors and approaching them. “Guest tour today, right? Hi, Peter,” she said, giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze when she was close enough. “I’m Pepper.” Wearing a huge smile, she extended a hand to MJ.

“MJ,” Peter’s date replied warmly.

“Hey! How come you’re ‘Michelle’ to me?” Tony turned to Peter as the women continued to smile at one another. “How come she’s ‘Michelle’ to me?” he demanded. Peter shrugged.

“Well, I’ll get out of your hair,” Pepper offered, glancing around between the three of them. “MJ, so nice to meet you. I hope we see you here again.”

“Thank you,” MJ said earnestly.

Tony was steadily shaking his head.

“Pepper,” he warned, “this adolescent is completely full of attitude.”

“Ooh,” Pepper said, eyebrows flying up. “And who does that remind you of?” she teased.

“I’m serious. This is not right,” Tony decided. “Don’t let her misrepresent herself to you,” he hissed, leaning into Pepper.

He was loud enough for MJ to hear and roll her eyes.

“I think she’s great,” Pepper pronounced, making sure to look right at MJ. “And I’m a _much_ better judge of character. Peter, text me if you guys need a little space and I’ll wrangle him.” She pointed at Tony, who looked more offended than ever.

“Ok,” Peter agreed with a grin.

“Whoa, whoa,” Tony said, attempting to draw Pepper back. “Maybe _I’m_ the one who needs space. Does anyone want to help _me_ escape from the torment of interacting with today’s youth? Is there a way for me to feel _less_ relevant right now?”

“Isn’t that what the metal suit’s for?” MJ asked casually. Peter’s mouth dropped open.

“Hold it right there,” Tony gritted out. “Kids _love_ the suit.”

She shrugged.

“I like her,” Pepper mouthed to Peter, backing away.

“CAP!” Tony called out. “PETER’S GIRLFRIEND IS BULLYING ME! CAP!”

“Out on assignment!” Pepper called back to him.

“BARTON? NATASHA? Pepper, who’ve we got? PEPPER! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY!”

She gave them a fluttering wave and cheerful smile, disappearing into an elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next installment of our story, it's back over to MJ's POV! Are we excited? Haven't had one of those since chapter 5! Now, which part of the compound might we expect MJ to be particularly eager to see...? Don't go the intellectual route with your answer. This is a kissing fanfic.
> 
> I hope any American readers are having a lovely, delicious Thanksgiving weekend. Somebody eat some mashed potatoes for me, and don't skimp on the salt.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today, the stars did not align in such a way that I had time to think out my author notes ahead of time, because one of those stars was my trip to IKEA, and as anyone who has ever built anything that came from IKEA knows, there's always something in that innocent cardboard box that does not align. Literally. Not to worry, this chapter will be far more enjoyable for you than my brief IKEA rant. First, it's an MJ chapter! Second, *slow grin*.

X

Much to MJ’s distaste, she was afraid that Tony Stark was actually beginning to like her. Being around him was sort of like watching a goldfish continuously swim, swish, and bump into glass, only to set off in a new direction and repeat the same steps. It had clearly been her mistake to interrupt this monotonous cycle by asking a pertinent question when they toured one of the labs, or maybe it was when she’d honestly complimented a particular aspect of the architecture that made a building which could very well have felt like an empty Costco seem elegant instead. That was the problem with people, in MJ’s opinion: too easily shocked by behaviour that was only slightly better than her overt cruelty. Unfortunately, she probably couldn’t lose this guy’s affability (now that she’d won it) without committing a major crime against the galaxy―since Stark clearly liked Peter enough to be determined to befriend her―and that just felt like too much work for lunchtime on a Saturday.

“So,” Stark said after they’d eaten, clapping his hands together like one of those stuffed monkeys with the cymbals, “what’s in the bag, Mary Poppins?” MJ watched him give Peter a seemingly meaningful stare. “Hmm? Anything you’d like to share?”

“What? No. I just… no,” Peter concluded, stumbling over the low vocabularic hurdles he’d set up for himself. MJ eyed him. So it wasn’t just her who thought he had a weird thing with the backpack. He glanced at her quickly. “Mr. Stark, could I just talk to you for a sec? MJ,” he turned to her, “if you walk over to that railing, there’s such a great view of the atrium.”

Silently, she looked from Peter to Stark.

“What?” Stark snapped defensively. “I’m not going to rough him up for his lunch money while you’re gone.”

With an unconcerned shrug, MJ slipped away. She crossed the smooth, scuff-less floor and leaned over the railing. Peter was right; it was a great view down through many layers of the complex, like staring into an immaculate, well-lit cave. _Ok, Peter_ , she thought, _I’ll give you a 10 for date location_.

The thing was that she’d never really been on a date before―the closest having been middle school trips to the movies in groups of a dozen or more. Today wasn’t exactly checking the expected boxes. Sure, where Peter had brought her was actually kind of spectacular, but there were some obvious flaws. Stark’s constant and intrusive presence took her back to you’re-too-young-to-go-without-a-chaperone days and Peter didn’t seem relaxed under his gaze any more than MJ did. The most irritating thing was the wordless conversation that had been going on around her since before they’d even left the car. Did she really _want_ to know?

MJ couldn’t hear them from here, but when she glanced back, it looked like the dynamic had intensified. If she’d had her sketchpad, she would’ve drawn the scene heavy with Stark’s obvious attempts to talk Peter into something and Peter’s shrinking reluctance. And that damn backpack on the floor in between them…

Peter glanced over at her and MJ stared calmly back. She straightened up when he appeared to exchange parting words with Stark and headed over to her. He sighed, grabbing the railing and leaning back, stretching his arms. Furtively, she looked over to see that Stark had walked off and the backpack was gone. What kind of stupid spy handoff game were these guys playing? It almost made her roll her eyes.

“Sorry, he’s… he’s being kind of pushy today,” Peter explained. “I don’t really know what’s going on.”

The awareness that she was sort of in public was usually enough to stop MJ from emotionally reacting when she didn’t want to, but being with Peter overrode that. She felt her expression change in sympathy. Peter caught it and laughed.

“I’m fine. So, what, uh, what do you wanna do?” He turned and hopped backwards to sit on the railing. MJ gasped and reached out to grab the front of his undone jacket.

“Peter! What are you doing?”

He gave her a sheepish look.

“Yeah,” he agreed, bringing his feet back to the floor, “I guess it’s a little high.”

MJ peered over the railing, then raised her eyebrows.

“A little? What, does being around Stark make you reckless by osmosis? We’re here an hour or two and you think you’re an Avenger,” she admonished, feeling her pulse start to slow after Peter’d freaked her out.

“MJ?” Oh no, he was giving her that look. That lovey look. “I’m not gonna jump.”

“Oh.” She abruptly released his jacket, but Peter didn’t move any further away. “What were you saying a minute ago?” MJ asked, feeling a little flustered. “About things we could do now that we’re out from under the oppression of the Iron Babysitter?”

He grinned at her.

“Well, we could hang out here…”

“Yeah?”

“Or we could go outside and walk around the grounds. No garbage, no traffic, no kamikaze cyclists.”

“Novel.”

“Or…” Peter cleared his throat and shyly reached out, resting his fingertips on her waist.

“Elaborate,” MJ prompted, heart picking up again.

“Well, I… I have a room here. Do you wanna see it?” His eyes met hers and he was looking at her like he’d just handed her all his hopes packed inside a snow globe, knowing that she might turn and hurl it over the railing.

“Wow,” MJ remarked with false composure as her face heated up, “you’re not even going to go for the line about wanting to show me your posters?” She inched one of her feet closer to him, then shifted her weight onto it.

“Skipping that one,” Peter informed her as his hand slipped down to close around the curve of her hip.

“But that’s the one they prepare us for in health class.”

“Are you saying I might know a little more about teenage boy behaviour than your middle-aged health teacher?” he joked.

“That sounds right. So, yeah,” MJ said with a slight smirk, “that’s what I’m saying.”

“What the hell are we talking about?” Peter wondered, bringing his face close to hers.

“We’re not talking,” she informed him, near enough to dodge his mouth and brush her lips across his cheek, “we’re going to your room.”

* * *

 Inevitably, awkwardness descended between their suggestive exchange and their arrival at Peter’s bedroom. MJ figured every flat surface probably concealed some technological capability several decades beyond anything the American marketplace had yet to conceive, though the space looked deceptively basic. Basic enough that she couldn’t ignore the central feature of the room. Which was the bed. When she glanced at Peter, he looked sufficiently jumpy to start climbing the walls. She almost laughed to herself, remembering numerous mentions (by Peter) of a close friendship with Spider-Man. Climbing the walls. Yeah, right.

“Not exactly homey, right?” Peter finally joked, taking a long stride into the room. MJ closed the door behind herself. “It’s alright though; I don’t stay here that much.”

“Are you aware of how weird it is that you stay here at all? Having to sleep where you work is a little unusual in a First World country.”

“Ah,” he corrected, grabbing the back of a chair positioned at a desk, “but I don’t work here anymore, I just come to hang out sometimes. Mr. Stark doesn’t like me travelling home if it gets too late.”

“Oh, sure,” MJ agreed, strolling around the room’s perimeter, “because you wouldn’t want to miss an Avengers slumber party. Tell me,” she demanded with an amused smirk, “does everyone wear their own branded pajamas? That would put you in an awkward spot. Where do your loyalties lie, Peter?”

As she asked, MJ turned to the dresser sitting unassumingly against the wall and began to open the top drawer in search of Iron Man PJs. Before she could blink, Peter was pushing it forcefully shut. MJ stared at him. He failed at acting casual.

“Sometimes… uh… Mr. Stark leaves stuff lying around. Sensitive equipment.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“He leaves sensitive equipment ‘lying around’ in _your_ sock drawer?”

“Maybe.” Peter shrugged. MJ planted a hand on her hip.

“What’s the matter? Afraid I’m going to see your underwear?”

He snorted instantly and dismissively, folding his arms and leaning back against the dresser, like MJ wouldn’t notice he was blocking it. (And yes, she did get distracted by those arms.)

“No, I’m not afraid of you seeing my underwear.”

The macho façade fell from Peter’s face and they looked at each other a little too long. Then, she had her arms around his shoulders, felt the firm squeeze of his around her waist, and was kissing him frantically. MJ leaned into Peter, confident that he’d be holding her up even without the dresser at his back; maybe she was only now getting firsthand experience of his physique, but she’d sketched these muscles at least a dozen times. The class average wasn’t the only thing this nerd was lifting.

The afternoon light coming through the room’s tall windows lit a fire behind her eyelids as Peter seized hold of her hips and steered her backwards. Unlike her pre-date interrogation of him the other day, this time MJ didn’t need to ask where he was taking her.

Peter’s intentions were obvious in the way he moved with her; the surprise was the fact that he was actually doing this, scrambling onto the bed with her and scrunching the back of her sweater in his hand as she scooted to land her head on the pillow. MJ was a doctor’s daughter―she knew how things progressed from kissing―but it was still kind of a trip to find out studious, wide-eyed Peter Parker had this… this _burning_ in him. He exhaled heavily between kisses and released her sweater only to slide his hand down to her ass and grip there instead. MJ turned her head to the side to give herself a second to breathe, but Peter was lifting her hips to press against his, even as he lowered himself onto her. So he was… he felt… She decided it would be better to circle back to ‘is that a graduated cylinder in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me’ another time. For now, she buried her face beneath his jaw, nudging urgent kisses into the skin where his pulse raced. Peter groaned quietly, hot on top of her.

“Who _are_ you?” MJ mumbled, heart trying to bounce straight through her to use the mattress as a trampoline.

Peter froze, except MJ wasn’t in the mood to overanalyze the meaning behind the expression on his face at the moment. She repeatedly ran her fingers over the area she’d been kissing, then guided his mouth to hers. He returned to her slowly, rebuilding their heat like he was kicking scattered embers back into a dwindling fire, until the kissing was intense again―maybe more than MJ was prepared for. But she held him closer, kissed him longer between gasping breaths, and raised her knee so that her inner thigh rested against his hip. When his hips jerked, rubbing roughly between her legs, MJ felt her way blindly into his coat to wrap her arms around his back. Peter’s muscles twitched; she embraced him more tightly. Suddenly, he ground against her slowly and deliberately, a total change from his previous unpracticed, reflexive motions and MJ’s lips slipped away from his as she moaned.

In a flurry, Peter was sitting up, wrestling his jacket off with MJ following him, fumbling the top buttons of his shirt open. He went to kiss her after flinging his coat to the floor and they bumped heads. MJ snickered and flattened her palms out on the front of Peter’s shirt.

“We should…”

“Stop,” he supplied, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, we should stop.”

Peter grinned. MJ had to glance away to prevent her gaze from going to his crotch and embarrassing that sweet look off his face. (What?! She was curious!) He flopped down at her side and after a few seconds, MJ laid down too, letting their arms touch.

“So…” she began, “…this was a good idea.” She jolted at her own words, grabbing Peter’s wrist. “The date, I mean. I’m saying your idea to come here, not that this specifically, _here_ here, was a good idea. Like you planned it or something,” she rambled. “You didn’t right? You didn’t plan this?”

“No,” Peter confirmed, giving her honest brown eyes.

“Right,” MJ said for no reason at all, relaxing into the mattress.

“I’ve thought about it.”

She turned her head and realized they were sharing the pillow. Also, she could see his chest where she’d gotten the first buttons undone.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Pink spread across his face like ink dripped onto wet paper.

“Here?”

“Lots of places,” Peter told her.

“Oh.” He thought about her like that? Actions were one thing, and MJ could attribute those to hormones and a private bedroom and sugary snacks in the car, but to hear Peter say it was something else.

Sounded like she’d have to start adding backgrounds to her sketches. MJ wanted to race back to her apartment to begin another one almost as badly as she wanted to nestle into these blankets with Peter and hibernate until next spring. She rolled onto her side, knees pushing into Peter’s leg. He glanced at her searchingly, then reached for her hand, pinning her arm snuggly under his warm one.

“Peter? Why are we here?”

There were associated questions―Why do you still come here so much if your internship’s over? Why is Tony Stark so protective of you?―but from the look in his eye, MJ knew Peter understood that she was after an answer a little more thorough than ‘Mr. Stark wanted me to come hang out and he said I could bring you.’

“I can’t tell you that yet,” he said softly.

Well, that was something. It wouldn’t do any good to badger Peter; she knew him better than that. He wasn’t a liar. Besides, MJ heard that ‘yet’ as a promise, and she was all for those.

“Has Ned ever been here?” she asked.

“No.” Peter shook his head, rustling the pillow case. “Just you.”

“He’s gonna be _so_ jealous.” MJ smirked. Peter just nodded. She elbowed him. “I’m kidding. I wasn’t going to say anything to him.”

“You can if you want to.”

She looked at him seriously, wanting to snuggle closer, though not quite ready to alter her reputation so dramatically that Peter would know she was a snuggler. Too soon.

“I won’t tell your secret, Peter,” MJ assured him. “Even if it’s just Iron Man pajamas.”

He smiled at her gently.

“I think you know it’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? We're gettin' there, right? Progress on multiple fronts. Thanks to all of you terrific readers who have left comments and kudos! Each one thoroughly delights me.
> 
> Next chapter: Ned is suspicious, MJ is suspicious, and Tony is Tony (isn't he always?).


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500 kudos?! I feel like I need to do some disbelieving cartoon eye rubbing. It's a massive number, but (because I assume you would prefer it) I'm going to skip issuing 500 thank yous and let you get straight to the new chapter.
> 
> (Except, obviously, to check that we're all still feeling emotionally wrecked after the first trailer for Endgame?)

XI

Ned was giving Peter the knowing smile he wore even when he really didn’t know anything at all. Peter tried not to catch his eye, wasting time by slowly flipping to the page in his textbook where they’d be going over the homework. Class hadn’t started yet.

“So,” Ned began, undeterred, “how was _your_ weekend?”

Peter glanced quickly around to make sure the people seated near them were either focused on their phones or struggling to keep their eyes open. He looked at Ned.

“I called an ambulance for a guy who got stabbed in the arm and I caught a bank robbery getaway car with my bare hands. Well, suited hands. Cops didn’t even have to lay down the spikes,” Peter whispered.

Ned rolled his eyes.

“I’m not asking for stories I can see on the news.”

“ _Ooh_ ,” Peter replied, faking sudden comprehension. “You mean how was my date.”

With an eager nod, Ned scraped his chair closer.

“Yeah, I’m not telling you anything about that.”

“ _What?!_ ”

Peter shrugged, flipping open his binder and dating a fresh page.

Ned tried again at lunch.

“Come on, Peter,” he pressed between bites of his sandwich. “What did you guys do? I didn’t hear from you, like, all of Saturday. Were you with MJ that whole time? She didn’t get sick of you?”

A sharp clang came from the girl in question slamming her water bottle down on the table.

“We went for ice cream,” she informed Ned, still standing. Peter glanced up at her, noting her challenging eyes. It kinda got his heart going.

“For six hours?” Ned shot back.

“I’m a slow eater.”

Peter coughed to cover his laugh, though he knew he wasn’t fooling Ned.

“Can I sit here?” MJ asked, nodding at the place next to Peter. She was wearing dark green; it looked nice on her.

“Of course.” He started to scoot over more, but she stopped him, sitting and leaning into him, hand on his thigh.

“Any other questions for me or my boyfriend, Ned?” she demanded.

Boy, Peter hadn’t even gotten around to checking with her about the label thing, but this was good. Probably. As long as it wasn’t alienating Ned.

“No,” he sighed theatrically. “I’ll let you two freaks paw each other in peace.”

“Ned,” Peter urged, feeling uncomfortable, “you don’t have to go.”

“I actually do.” Ned frowned. “I’m supposed to meet up with Cindy because she has some presentation she wants to practice saying out loud before her class.”

“Oh, what class?”

“French,” Ned groaned.

“But how are you going to understand it? You don’t speak French,” Peter said slowly.

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“Yikes. Well… have fun?”

Ned rolled his eyes and departed from the cafeteria. Immediately, Peter’s biggest concern was whether or not MJ would be leaving her hand on his thigh.

“Well, don’t you two look cozy?” Peter closed his eyes at Flash’s voice. And there went MJ’s hand. Major loss. “When did this become a thing? Somebody should’ve let me know so I could start introducing you to people as Mr. and Mrs. Penis Par―”

“How’s your dad’s car?” MJ asked casually. Peter looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was boldly twisted to face Flash. “Or that shirt you were wearing the other day? Gosh, I just have a bad feeling, Flash. You know shit like that always come in threes.”

“Shut up,” he mumbled and retreated.

“You know you’re torturing him, right?” Peter asked with amusement as MJ looked at him.

“Not well enough, since he keeps bugging you.”

“Maybe the third thing will stop him once and for all,” he suggested.

“There won’t be a third thing,” MJ informed him. “At least, not one that comes from me. The only way to maintain the ability to inspire fear in Flash is to keep him waiting for that other shoe to drop.”

“The third shoe,” Peter clarified, giving her a facetious smile.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“You’re happy.”

“I had a good apple for lunch. Very crunchy. It’s important to buy local produce.”

“Cut the bullshit, loser.” But she was smiling at him.

“I noticed you called me your boyfriend,” he said, perking up.

“I noticed you got your backpack back. Care to discuss?”

Peter opened his mouth, but it was taking a minute for sound to catch up. He couldn’t tell her the exact truth (that Mr. Stark had texted him while they were still at the Avengers compound to say the backpack would be in the trunk of the car that took them home and Peter could retrieve it after dropping MJ off). She was already suspicious about the rapport he had with his mentor, plus she had eyes like a hawk―a metaphor he wasn’t allowed to use anymore in superhuman company.

“Mr. Stark, uh, mailed it to me.” He couldn’t look MJ in the eye.

“Probably with one of those delivery drones, right? How else could you have gotten it so fast?”

Peter nodded vaguely.

“Calm down. You’re off the hook.” She nudged him and it was another little jolt of a reminder for how close they’d been two days ago.

“Well, you’re not,” he spoke up, making MJ look startled. “Did you just say I was your boyfriend because you wanted to weird Ned out?”

“I said you were my boyfriend because you _are_ my boyfriend,” she stated simply. Her face was almost bored. “Don’t pretend you weren’t ecstatic when I said it.”

“That could’ve just been how I looked because your hand was on my leg.” Peter looked her square in the eye. “And don’t _you_ try to pretend you’re not just as excited about this as I am. That’s fine with me if you want to act all casual at school, but I know your secret.”

MJ burst out laughing.

“And what secret is that, Peter?”

Just like that, he was unsure. MJ’s dark eyes were so careful. No, he was sure. It had been all over her face on Saturday and yeah, she’d been crazy sarcastic then too, but not so much at him.

“You want me?” It wasn’t supposed to be a question, but hey, asking her to weigh in here was probably a good idea.

She kept looking at him and slowly, Peter raised a hand and ran his fingers across her cheek. Wow, she was right here. And he could touch her. MJ shivered.

“More than you know,” she confessed. Quickly, she kissed him on the mouth, then rose from the table. Their first kiss at school. Well, where people could see. _Calm down, Peter_ , he told himself.

“Busy day?” Peter asked, missing this girl who was like a foot away from him.

“I’ve got some lurking to do. Can’t let things slide just because I have you distracting me now.”

“Oh, I’m distracting you?” He laughed.

MJ gave him the finger.

* * *

“So, what’s new, Karen?” Peter asked that night, using the staggered outdoor pipes of some business as monkey bars. There wasn’t a lot going on and he was planning to head home soon, but he had some questions that he didn’t need May overhearing. It seemed really unlikely that Mr. Stark hadn’t made any adjustments to his suit after taking it with him when he left MJ and Peter alone on Saturday.

“In what sense, Peter? Would you like me to refer to breaking news reports, access the local police scanner, perhaps check the overnight weather forecast?”

“No, no, no, none of those,” he assured the suit lady, leaping from the pipes to scale the closest building. “Just… any differences I should be aware of? New protocols?”

“Would you like me to call Mr. Stark?”

“Umm…” He considered it, tightrope walking the edge of the roof. “Yeah, ok.”

“Kid, how did you get this number?” Tony demanded a second later. Peter rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Mr. Stark, you gave it to me.”

“But your calls are supposed to go through Happy. I’m far too busy to be disturbed. Heads will roll over this one, you mark my words.”

“Aren’t we past this?” Peter whined.

“I don’t know, Peter, do _you_ think we should be? Seems that a little coldness is exactly what you deserve after so surgically cutting me out of your life recently.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“And then I came to see you to make up for that. Not that I had anything to make up for, since you were spying on me.”

“What can I say? I’m a curious guy.”

“Actually, Mr. Stark, I wanted to ask about any changes to my suit.”

“You mean you _haven’t_ gone through the programming with a fine-tooth comb yet to cripple more of my fabulous updates?” Tony asked.

“I thought this would save time,” Peter replied, dodging the sarcasm. “I have a quiz to study for.”

“Snore.”

With a sigh, Peter waited for Tony to set aside his snarkiness and get to the part where he spoke pure science at a mile a minute.

“Just a couple of tweaks here and there,” Tony began coyly. The tone of voice made Peter immediately suspicious. “Some shortcuts in your voice commands to access functions even faster. Crazy intuitive. Really though, kid, I think you can figure things out from there. Just, you know, play around a little. Trial and error.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, have some fun,” he breezed. “I have to go. Pepper made me some kind of fancy mocha something-or-other and from the look on her face, she’s going to pour it into my lap any second now.”

“Ok.” Peter’s shoulders slumped. This was frustrating. He guessed he could have Ned come over tomorrow so they could put their heads together over the suit the way they’d done in the past.

“One little thing to give you a push in the right direction,” Tony added.

“Yeah?”

“Try… key words.”

“Key words?” Not super helpful.

“Words of particular significance to you. Recent significance. Female significance.”

“I think I get the hint,” Peter said. “You better go drink your coffee.”

“Alright, talk soon, bye.”

Peter took a leap away from the edge and sprung to the middle of the roof. Whatever Mr. Stark was trying to egg him into testing probably wasn’t dangerous, but it could be something that made noise or threw him off his feet or would generally freak somebody out if they spotted him up here (like those metal spider legs he had _not_ been informed of ahead of time).

Very quietly, Peter said, “Michelle.”

Nothing happened. He tensed, shifting his legs into a more stable stance and holding his arms out in front of himself.

“MJ.”

Instead of webs, rose petals violently shot from his wrists.

Peter yelped.

“Is something the matter, Peter?” Karen inquired. “The new ‘Lover Boy’ install seems to have performed perfectly.”

He let his head hang down.

“No, it was great, Karen. Is my suit gonna do that every time I say her name?” He didn’t like talking about MJ as if she was a stranger, but until he got the answer, there was no way he was triggering that again.

“It was a short-term protocol. It will only be in effect until the fuel runs out.”

“By ‘fuel’ you mean petals?”

“That’s correct.”

Well, it had been a pretty big blast. How many petals could Mr. Stark really have packed in there? He wouldn’t do anything severe enough that it could compromise the flow of the web fluid. Probably just a onetime prank. Peter hesitated a moment.

“MJ.”

There was an eruption of pink that made the roof look like the floor of a flower shop that’d been through an earthquake, and made Peter smell like an old lady. He stared into the sky and screamed.

“GodDAMMIT!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of throwing some more tags into the tag list to give little hints at what's to come (I'm writing to stay a few chapters ahead of what I post to provide a cushion in case of writer's block/Christmas madness), as I did when I posted the first chapter of this story. PLEASE SOUND OFF to let me know if you're in favour of additional tags, or whether you are a human of mystery and prefer your fanfiction to be a mystery as well.
> 
> Next up: May gets her wish when Peter's much-anticipated girlfriend comes to dinner! But not everything that happens during MJ's visit would be May-approved. Oh well! What May doesn't know won't hurt her!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new tags for the moment, but thanks very much to the readers who weighed in. And thanks to those who've been commenting about anything at all. And just thanks to everyone for reading! Unless we take an unexpected turn towards obscurity, this chapter should push the hits on this story over 10,000, which doesn't even seem real. *deep breathing into a paper bag*
> 
> This chapter's a fun one for anybody who likes reading about Peter and MJ making out, or Aunt May, or Peter and MJ making out, or domestic Parkers, or Peter and MJ making out...

XII

“Well, I’m glad I caught you between daydreams this morning with the vacuuming request,” May began with a joking kind of sternness, “because apparently I’m not getting any housework out of you this afternoon.”

Peter sat up abruptly.

“Crap, sorry, May.”

She shook her head at him.

“Are you listening to music in there or is there some other reason you’re not hearing me when I’m asking you to grab fresh hand towels for the bathroom?”

“No,” Peter answered quickly, then pulled his mask off so she could see his face and said again, “No. Just thinking.”

“Here’s something for you to think about: think of a better way to get this stuff off the walls.” She waved a finger towards the ends of the web-hammock Peter had been hanging out in for the better part of an hour. True: he’d affixed either end directly to the paint of the living room walls. Also true: it sucked to remove. Peter couldn’t help it; he needed a clear head to prepare for his imminent second date with MJ (it was Saturday and she’d be there in about an hour) and he couldn’t get that from lazing around on his bed. That was where the other kind of thinking about MJ happened, and Peter knew he had to set boundaries. It was just responsible.

“I’ll work on it,” he promised, “but I haven’t been able to make a solution yet that doesn’t strip the paint too.”

May’s hands landed on her hips.

“Then what the heck am I paying for all your scientific extracurriculars and field trips at that school for?”

He raised his eyebrows.

“You think you’re paying for that stuff so I’ll learn how to remove a chemical compound, which I invented to complement my superhumanness, from house paint?”

“At this point, pal, you betcha.”

Peter gave up and hopped out of his hammock, tossing his mask onto the couch while he started working at the strands of web. The stuff was gluey and strong as hell, so he kept his suit on. All he had to remember was to not touch his hair. It was probably sticking up from wearing the mask, but running a hand through it with this stuff on his palm would take it drastically in the other direction―he’d be Dracula. Or worse, George McFly.

When May left the room, Peter subtly watched her go, then started yanking on the web to separate the tapered ends of the hammock from the bigger clump of web stuck to the wall. If he pulled it straight off the wall it would work, but he’d probably (definitely) pull the whole wall down with it. Maybe someday he’d buy May a nice old house and put the super-strength to work remodeling. With a sharp tug at the correct angle, Peter had one side disconnected. He was thinking of his potential future as an amateur contractor when the web snapped and a knock sounded at the door of their apartment.

Peter rapidly balled up the hammock and stared at it in his hands, then at the hands themselves. Hands that were still enclosed in his suit. May hurried back into the room.

“Is she early?” she hissed, glancing at the door.

“Way.”

“Here, I’ve got this, you… go to your room and come back looking a little less… obvious.” She turned and picked up a piece of artwork she’d recently had framed and smacked it against the wall where the webby anchor remained. It held, no problem.

“Smart,” Peter commented.

“Get _outta_ here.” May chucked his mask at his chest and approached the opposite wall with another frame. “I’ll entertain her until you’re back.”

Peter nodded frantically and booked it to his room. He stuffed the gooey ball deep under his bed; he’d created it to disintegrate, but an alternative was attempting to reuse it, or studying it in its solid form while he tried to think of a better way to take it off paint.

“Hi, MJ,” he heard his aunt say. “Come on in. Peter’ll be out in just a minute.”

He was so lucky to have May, he thought, stripping out of his Spidey suit. She was genuinely warm and good at carrying on a conversation with practically anybody. Peter flung the suit into the back of his closet and threw on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. This looked nice, right? It was just dinner at home for this date. He heard May laugh in the living room and smiled as he combed his fingers through his hair.

“Go get her, tiger,” Peter muttered to himself, then forcefully blew out a breath and exited his bedroom.

“…when she has time and if the weather’s good,” MJ was telling May. Of course, Peter had heard the whole conversation, but hearing wasn’t listening. Mostly, he’d been focused on how terrifying it was to walk out here and talk to her.

“So you walked her today? That’s nice,” May gushed. “Oh, Peter!”

He stepped into the room. Hmm, sit beside MJ or sit beside May? Maybe a little too intimidating for MJ if he sat across from her, too much like a job interview. He also didn’t want to cuddle right up to her because it would be weird and embarrassing and he’d have to ask somebody (probably Ms. Romanoff) to get him and May new identities and move them someplace where nobody knew how awkward he was. Except then there would be no MJ.

He sat next to his… girlfriend… but not too close.

“Hope I’m not interrupting something important,” MJ said wryly, eyeing him sideways.

“More important than seeing you? No way.”

Peter caught May’s eye and she gave him an approving wink.

“Suck up,” MJ accused. His aunt laughed.

“MJ was just telling me she walked here after accompanying her mom to her bus stop.”

He edged a little closer to MJ.

“That’s the excuse you’re going with?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“What do you mean?”

“For being so early,” Peter said, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. “You have to make up a whole story about what a good daughter you are to cover up the fact that you couldn’t wait to get over here and hang out with me?”

“That is so _obviously_ not true that I’m not even going to respond,” she informed him. He grinned at her until she smirked back.

“No, no,” May urged. “Tell Peter what you do at the hospital. It’ll make him feel even worse about his appalling behaviour.”

“What does she mean?” he asked MJ, nudging her knee with his. “What do you do?”

“I just… draw.”

What was this, embarrassment? From MJ? Peter had always gotten the impression that her art was a really open and comfortable thing for her. She was always drawing in public at school. Or, sort of in public. He guessed detention was kind of a limited audience.

“What do you draw?” he encouraged.

“People. Kids. Sick kids having fun. It makes them feel better.”

“Wow, that’s really nice of you,” Peter told her, genuinely amazed.

She didn’t look impressed by his assessment and turned to him with her hands clamped around her knees.

“Surprised that your girlfriend might actually be a good person?”

“More surprised that there’s an entire group of people you show that side of yourself to. And that you have a portfolio of drawings that I’ve never seen.”

“You’ve seen, like, two of my sketches ever. Don’t tell me you thought that was all of them.”

“But this is different. How can you think of the kids sitting in detention as ‘people in crisis’ when you go to the hospital and see people who are really suffering?” He wasn’t criticizing, just profoundly curious. She was a lot more mysterious than he’d thought.

“It’s a spectrum,” MJ explained, forehead creasing as she thought, clearly trying to give Peter a good answer. “It’s―

“Bean sprouts!” May shouted, jumping up.

Peter turned wide eyes on her.

“Sorry, you two,” she said. “I thought we’d make stir-fry together for supper and I forgot to buy the bean sprouts.” Her shoulders sagged as she glanced between the pair. “Should I just leave them out?”

“No!” Peter shouted. _Be calm_ , he cautioned himself. _If you make it obvious that you’re trying to get May to leave you alone with MJ, there’s no way she’ll so much as turn her back all night_. “It’s, um, not the same without them. Needs that crunch.”

He caught MJ’s eye.

“As much as I hate to agree with him, Peter’s right, Mrs. Parker. I could go get some if you want…?”

“Absolutely not. You’re our guest, Michelle.”

May collected her purse and jacket.

“Anything else we’re feeling for the stir-fry?”

“Bok choy?” MJ suggested.

May snapped her fingers.

“Good call. I’ll grab some of that too. Ok, back in like…” she glanced at her bare wrist, “…half an hour?”

“I’ll get the door,” Peter volunteered.

As she left the apartment, May levelled a finger at him that he was pretty sure he understood and was equally sure he was going to ignore, so long as MJ was game. His heart was already racing.

“How does this emergency compare to the ones that come up when you’re having dinner with the Avengers?” MJ joked as he walked back over to her.

“Well, when Mr. Stark runs out of bean sprouts, he just puts on the Iron Man suit and flies to the grocery store. It’s faster, but the store’s farther away, so it pretty much balances out.”

She snorted.

“I know exactly what you’re doing, you know.”

Peter shrugged and sat down right next to her.

“I just helped my aunt to the door. What? Do you have something against bean sprouts?”

“I didn’t say I was against _anything_ that’s happening right now, including the scheme behind the grocery façade you’ve created.”

Peter chewed the inside of his lip.

“You’re paranoid,” he told her.

“And _you’re_ a bad liar. Luckily,” she confidently consoled him, “your body always tells me the truth.”

Her face went still all of a sudden and Peter realized something had just happened, even if he hadn’t understood.

“What do you m―”

Apparently a question for a later time, because MJ sprang forward to kiss him so fast that she might actually have managed to miss his mouth had Peter’s enhanced reflexes not come to the rescue. Or maybe she really _had_ just meant to kiss the side of his face… Woops. Well, the way she sunk into him said the adjustment he’d made was fine by her. In fact, as they kissed heatedly, she was seeming more at ease with him (and he with her) than she had since he’d walked into the room. The absence of a chaperone, perhaps? Or genuinely trying _that_ hard to distract him from her odd comment about his body telling the truth? The possibility of MJ finding out _exactly_ which truth his body wanted to tell her was increasing by the moment, since he was getting hard and she was exploring; her hand had landed lower than it ever had (outside of his fantasies), warm on Peter’s stomach through his shirt. Keeping her palm in place, she skated only her pinkie south with a sudden brush that made him want to do a triple backflip.

Their kissing slowed until MJ’s lips were just brushing against his, almost tickling.

“Peter?” she breathed. Her eyes were open, but under lowered lids. He swallowed.

“Yeah?” he said, voice small and thin and careful.

With purpose so clear and vulnerable that it punched Peter square in the chest to see something fundamentally familiar in her, something so like himself, MJ shifted her thigh over his.

“Can I?”

He ran a hand up her leg, knee to hip, and watched himself do it. Inhaling was a tremulous afterthought.

“You don’t have to,” Peter told her, lifting his hand to her outer arm, which felt like a safer place. “Just because May went out… I don’t expect…”

“Oh,” she warned him, swinging her leg all the way over and straightening up in the middle of his lap while Peter channeled his desire into a hard clench of his jaw, “I plan on becoming a master of doing things you don’t expect.”

“Good start,” he breathlessly complimented. After half a minute looking into her dark, unflinching eyes, Peter checked MJ out in a way that he knew was pretty much impossible for her to miss, being inches from him.

“You know,” MJ started, “this is the first time I’ve actually gotten to witness you staring at me.”

Fingers rolling over the curve of her waist, Peter halted to frown.

“What?”

She touched his chin, his hair, with pressure that said she could only hold back a little longer. He hoped.

“Ned told me you stared at me. Before.”

“Oh man,” Peter groaned. He would’ve let his head fall forward if not for, well, MJ’s chest. “Ned fed you that line too?”

She smirked.

“He told you that I used to stare at you?”

“God, of _course_ he was messing with me,” Peter lamented.

“What are you talking about? I _did_ stare at you. I _do_.”

…Which was when his hands scooped under the backs of her thighs, right where they met her ass, and jerked MJ forward. She tugged the back of his neck to kiss him all the quicker. The tender way her fingers crept into the back of his collar was a delicate trill to the life-changing _forte_ boom of their hips rocking together. Peter wanted to roll her over and do it all harder, faster. Or against the wall. Or, hey, against the ceiling for that matter. He was freaking Spider-Man! He could figure something out.

But no. No, no. MJ was enjoying this. She had this look on her face (when he drew back to let her access much-needed oxygen) that Peter didn’t want anybody else to ever get to see. He was… yeah, he was staking a claim here. As such, when MJ started rubbing herself against him in a place that was good enough to make her dig her nails into his back, he anchored her with a hand in each rear pocket of her jeans. Seriously, it was purely for her benefit. If Peter’s grip got a little firm or if he wasn’t so much steadying her as pushing her more tightly to him, that was all coincidental.

Really though, things were maybe getting out of hand here. What had stopped them the last time? Peter couldn’t even remember right now, with MJ twisting her face into his neck and gasping with each dragging thrust. _God_ , he wanted to take his pants off. They definitely needed a rescue or, or something. They needed Spider-Man _ex machina_. Because he was gonna… with the rough massage of her, um, upper, inner, between-the-thighs area against his… oh, this was good. Peter squeezed his eyes shut, head dropped onto the back of the couch, and kept moving MJ forward and back.

A sound in the lobby, way down at the bottom of the stairwell, but he knew May’s footsteps.

Peter lifted MJ off his lap and stood up suddenly, happy not to suffer dizziness too often unless he’d been hit really _really_ hard in the head.

“It’s May,” he told her, though he was staring towards the door of the apartment.

“It is?”

“Yep.”

“Dammit,” MJ contributed. “Should’ve given her a longer list.”

Peter turned to look at her.

“You wanna run to the bathroom and… get yourself together?” he offered, equally anxious about May’s arrival and the possibility of MJ taking offense.

“No, you need it more than I do.” Her gaze drifted down his body, then fluttered up and away like a leaf on the breeze. She put her hands to her cheeks, probably realizing how red they were. “I’ll… fake a coughing fit.”

“Ok, great.”

Peter sprinted away as May’s key _snick_ ed in the lock. He laughed, softly and giddily, listening to the noise of MJ’s rasping cough through the bathroom door. As he calmed himself, he continued eavesdropping―occupational hazard for a guy with super-senses.

“Oh, MJ! Are you alright?” May asked frantically. It sounded like she’d dropped her grocery bag. Poor bean sprouts.

Miraculously, Peter heard his girlfriend suddenly recover.

“Nothing a little stir-fry won’t fix,” she offered. “How can I help?”

“Well, that’s very thoughtful. How about I pull the veggies out and you can start getting everything washed off?”

“Sounds like a plan,” MJ agreed.

“Peter!” May called. Scrambling, he flushed the toilet, then turned the tap on at the sink. “Time to help!”

When he sauntered into the kitchen―hands stuffed (hopefully) casually into his front pockets―a minute later, his aunt turned away from the counter and pointed a carrot at him. A couple feet from her, MJ was chopping something.

“We have to up our stir-fry game tonight,” May informed him.

“Deal.”

“Best ever,” she added seriously, swivelling back to pull out a wok. “You don’t want MJ going home unsatisfied, do you?”

That very MJ stilled her knife and slowly glanced around to catch Peter’s eye. Her eyebrow lifted. Peter cleared his throat.

“Uh, no,” he assured May’s back. “Don’t want that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TFW your aunt unintentionally roasts you during dinner with your new girlfriend.
> 
> Come back next week for: Tension! Teenage hormones! Crime-fighting! Peter trying to comprehend female behaviour! Oh, it's all happening.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Twas the post before Christmas, when all through the fic  
> Readers were wondering when MJ would see Peter's―
> 
> Uh... kind nature and sparkling personality. Enjoy!

XIII

MJ spent a week being weird. She watched him, like, _all_ the time, so Peter felt as though he had no choice but to watch her in return―though he didn’t know why either of them was doing it. Unfortunately, it didn’t help him stay on top of whatever was happening, or even get into whatever MJ’s mindset might have been by acting the way she was. He asked Ned to confirm that MJ was being weird and Ned gave him a look that screamed _duh, Peter, she’s always weird_. Which was true… she just wasn’t usually this weird to _him_.

 _Was it the stir-fry?_ he was wondering by Wednesday when the weirdness continued, undiminished. Did MJ secretly hate stir-fry and intend to hold it against him somehow? Maybe, he considered between classes, when there weren’t lessons and quizzes and ancient Captain America physical fitness videos to distract him, the make out session had been way worse than he’d thought. Totally possible that he’d been too dense to understand her feelings and had utterly effed it up without even realizing it. Wouldn’t that just be classic. Or _maybe_ , Peter thought as he walked home one afternoon, the kissing had been so good that MJ didn’t even know what to do with herself. He became conscious that he was smirking to himself, and that he was being a total moron.

Surely then, he decided by Thursday morning as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and brushed his teeth, it was May’s interruption that had prompted this odd, spy vs. spy circling that he had been forced into (ok, by himself, since technically he could’ve just asked MJ what was going on). She might be feeling self-conscious or guilty or something else Peter hadn’t picked up on and his behaviour was just majorly insensitive.

He would talk to her. Today. And then there could be kissing again. If he was lucky.

The time seemed right during their very loosely planned and very informally executed decathlon meeting. The sugar intake during lunch must have been low or something, Peter theorized, because the pep they’d recently developed just wasn’t there. Instead of training with their usual method, the group had fractured, lazing around the classroom and asking each other questions in groups of two or three. Flash wasn’t letting anyone else’s attempted focus deter him from complaining about… well, everything that crossed his mind, as far as Peter could tell. That was, that was fine though. It was static in the background.

He glanced over at where Ned was quizzing Cindy, the only pair openly smiling, and then looked across the desk he sat at, MJ opposite. She’d been twiddling her pen around for the past three and a half minutes.

“MJ? You’re fidgeting.” He lightly touched the back of her hand.

She stared at his fingers and he saw her face go totally pink before she met his eye.

“That’s usually, uh, my thing,” Peter informed her, moving his hand away to scratch the back of his neck. “The fidgeting.”

“I don’t think you need it; you’ve pretty much got the puppy dog eyes thing down. Your brand works for you. Why expand?”

He frowned. She wasn’t really being that much different than she’d ever been, but it was still a big change from how she’d been getting a little more inviting towards him all the time. In contrast to the level of… friendliness… they’d newly established (he thought, anyway), this was almost like MJ was blowing him off.

“MJ, listen,” Peter implored quietly, leaning towards her. “What did I mess up? I just wanna know.”

“Oh, if you’re gonna be disappointed by what I have to say, hurry up and disappoint you?” She was narrowing her eyes at him. “I’m _thinking_ , Peter! I’m just… thinking.” MJ slumped back in her chair, crossing her arms.

“But I can’t stand―”

“Not knowing?” She got this sarcastic smile on her face that Peter really didn’t like.

“Yeah,” he freely admitted. “I don’t like not knowing. I don’t like that I haven’t gotten to kiss you all week. I don’t like that we haven’t held hands in the hall.”

MJ looked confused.

“We’ve never held hands in the hall.”

Peter waved her off.

“I felt like we were building up to it.”

She was shaking her head, not looking at him.

“It’s the secrets, Peter. It’s not… I’m not handling them like I thought I’d be able to.”

“…That’s why we’re not holding hands?” he asked, taking a sloppy stab at it.

“That’s why I’ve been thinking.”

“Is there a specific thought that I’d at least be able to respond to?”

Peter was getting frustrated and he was pleading. ‘Thinking’ had code word potential. ‘Thinking’ was near the top of the breakup vocabulary list. Use it in a sentence? ‘I’ve been thinking.’ Clear danger ahead.

“Try this one,” she… challenged? Demanded? Peter’s heart was already sinking. “How did you know your aunt was coming?”

He knew exactly what she was talking about. Was it worth it to try to lie?

“When are you, uh―”

“Peter.”

Ok, so much for that.

“I… guessed?” He looked at her hopefully. MJ was giving him nothing with that stare, so he elaborated. “Based on the distance to the store, its probable busyness at that time on a Saturday, and the fact that, though May sometimes forgets her keys and has to wait for one of our neighbours to let her back into the building, I saw her take them before she left.

“Pretty good guess. Considering I never saw you check the time.”

“I have a great internal clock.”

“Next explanation,” MJ abruptly ordered, shifting forward to fold her arms on the desk, fingers locked. Kinda felt like he was being interrogated.

“I heard her,” he said quietly. It felt better, telling the truth. Also terrifying.

She rolled her eyes and sat back again. Apparently, this wasn’t something she could take seriously because, for the average person, it was impossible.

“I heard her,” Peter stupidly insisted. He just wanted MJ to like him again. That was all that really mattered. Was he going to let that inspire him to give up his deepest secret? Sure as hell looked like it.

“Through the door, down all those stairs, with the window open and sounds coming from other apartments, you heard her,” MJ checked, clearly disbelieving him. “Looks like I get to be the one who’s disappointed.”

She shoved back, up and away from him and Peter had to make his hands into fists so he wouldn’t grip the desk instead and turn the fake wood into fake sawdust. _No, no, no_ , he screamed at himself. _Tell her, just tell her!_ But he couldn’t. It wasn’t… He couldn’t use Spider-Man because it would be convenient, because it would make life easier in the moment. Peter had almost made that mistake before, prepared to parade around in the suit like a party trick at, well, a party. And he’d never really regretted not showing up to Liz’s place that night as his cooler alter ego, so he wouldn’t regret this―MJ throwing open the classroom door while their teammates looked up, confused―either. Right?

* * *

“Come on, you lazy criminals. Gimme something,” Peter begged. He did another scan of the surrounding metropolitan grid from the building he was perched on the edge of.

Oh, there was something! A figure running! Peter let webs fly, swinging through the air on a trajectory that would let him land right in front of the… man jogging to catch the city bus squealing to a stop at the corner. Peter sighed. The guy didn’t even miss his bus, so there was nothing to help with, no miniscule neighbourhood problem to solve. Bummer.

Peter took a left and a right, heading to an apartment building he knew with a green roof. In his opinion, the garden up there was a little too manicured, but still, seeing that patch of green in the city made his brain calm. He climbed, then stood next to a Japanese maple and rested his elbows on the chest-high glass barrier. Well, this was annoying; he wasn’t getting any calmer. His body kept shifting, his gaze kept darting, traffic lights below kept changing, and deep inside himself, he kept wondering if he and MJ were going to break up.

He’d dealt with _way_ worse than this and managed to sustain a pretty good mood, but right now, Peter had the luxury of space―not _outer_ space, but space―and his worry, his frustration, and his regret were taking over. What had happened today with her was bad. It was terrible! Beginning to cave and hint at the truth only to have her absolutely reject the possibility of him being anything more than normal was a real… well, it was a pain in the ass, honestly. What was the point of her getting all suspicious if she wasn’t going to accept what he had to say? Peter didn’t want to be logical and admit to himself that her suspicions meant she wasn’t dumb and that his secret had to be un-guessable for his own safety. What he _wanted_ was… was…

To be able to tell her.

Except he couldn’t.

With a burdened sigh, he scooped some fallen leaves from the soil-filled boxes that stood in for a more traditional flowerbed and tossed them out over the side of the building, letting each leaf find its own unique way to the sidewalk somewhere down there.

He couldn’t tell MJ and he couldn’t stop her from being curious. Basically, he was stuck. Badly enough to hope for crime in the borough. It was maybe the first time Peter had actually wished for something more since Thanos had happened―though he wasn’t willing to go so nuts as to want a repeat of _that_. Just something small was all, minor vandalism that he could wag his finger at or somebody rolling through a stop sign who he could remind to check for pedestrians. He needed a win tonight because it wasn’t going to be with MJ.

Giving up on the rooftop garden that was only making him melancholy, Peter went and grabbed a greasy slice of two-dollar cheese pizza from a guy who’d once let him have a pen and a cardboard pizza box to write on when he needed to leave a note on a stolen car he’d recovered. Nice man. Not the best pizza. Peter didn’t know if there was such a thing as an inability to smell or taste when you’d added too much garlic to tomato sauce, but if there was, this guy had it. But he was a neighbour, so Peter offered his patronage, then decamped to a picturesque fire escape like a billion others, peeled up the lower half of his mask, and ate his slice.

He was aware that he was in the general neighbourhood of MJ’s apartment because he was always aware, of too much, all the time. That was it. He knew he wouldn’t see her because it was getting pretty late―pretty late for anyone really. The pizza wasn’t looking its best (not that its best set a very high bar), so Peter was in the middle of feeling bad for whichever rats he’d deprived of what surely would’ve been dumpster-filler when he saw a trio of shadows congregate up the block.

When two of the shadows hustled the third around the corner out of his direct line of sight, he knew it wasn’t so much congregating as cornering. The slimy slice was falling several stories and splatting on concrete, but Peter was already swinging around the corner and a block east, suddenly too adrenaline-charged to hear it.

A woman alone and a pair of guys with… knives (he saw one catch the light of a streetlamp); it was a scene Peter busted his butt to make less tragically typical in this city. Still, she was fighting back, bashing one in the stomach with the large bag she carried. Except the other guy had just whipped a gun out of the band of his jeans. Peter came down hard on him, webbing his wrist to the wall so he dropped the weapon, then giving the side of his head a swift downward punch that left him slumped, unconscious. Well, the lecture on the responsibilities of gun ownership would have to happen another time.

The other one took off (very rarely did the perpetrators of impromptu crimes stick together, Peter had found), not stupid enough to try to snatch the gun from the sidewalk.

“’Scuse me, ma’am,” he said, holding up his hands to show he had no intention of threatening the target of the attack, before quickly stepping around her and shooting a web at the runner’s back. Peter reeled him in and deposited him next to his erstwhile pal. A little more webbing fixed him to the wall. He’d heard through the grapevine that cops complained about removing this mysterious compound, but hey, the criminals couldn’t get it off either, which was kind of the point.

Finally (seconds after he’d jumped on the jerk with the gun), Peter turned to the woman with the nerves of steel and bag of… he couldn’t tell. Nylon, maybe? Some people fled as soon as he intervened and that was ok. Peter never blamed anybody for wanting to get themselves out of a dangerous situation. At the same time, it was nice when they waited. It said they trusted him to stop the bad thing that was happening (or they were in shock) and that was one of the things that kept him out here, night after night.

“Some people, huh?” Peter remarked to the lady with a heavy sigh. She stared at him. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m Spider-Man.”

She extended her hand to take his offered one.

“I know who you are.” Her tone was calm, but her hand was shaking. She had warm brown eyes that were open just a little too wide. Better wrap this up and let her get home to her family, or her rabbit, or just a carton of ice cream.

“I hate to bother you,” he apologized, “but do you have a pen and something to write on? No pockets.”

He mimed writing and the woman slid her bag from her shoulder into the crook of her elbow, fumbling inside. Something flew out and clattered on the sidewalk; Peter bent to retrieve it. It was a lanyard with an ID attached. From the hospital. It said June Jones. Jones. His eyes shot to her face as he passed it back. Yep, the eyes. The round cheeks. She handed him an uncapped pen and a pad of paper. Peter laughed quickly as he started to write―it was a prescription pad. Then he felt really bad about laughing in front of someone who’d just had a gun pulled on them.

“Ma’am?” He didn’t want to say her name and make her think he’d been snooping when he’d read her ID. “Do you know what they were after? If you’d rather wait and only tell the police,” Peter hurriedly said, “that’s ok too. I just like giving them something on the note.”

She was nodding, gripping the handle of her bag.

“Money, they said,” Mrs. Jones informed him. “That’s all.”

“’K.” He wrote it down and tore off the page, handing back the rest of the pad. He glanced at her again. “Can I help you get home?”

“I’m just around the corner. I think I need to… walk this off.”

“No problemo.”

Peter let her turn the corner before he gingerly collected the gun from the ground and flooded its barrel with webs. Nobody was shooting this thing again. He was going to fasten it to the wall when he saw the conscious guy looking at him. Peter set the gun in his lap and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Try not to wiggle around too much,” he suggested, watching the sweat form droplets on the guy’s forehead as he stared nervously down into his lap.

Was it wrong to tease him? Sure. But this one had been personal. (Every crime he stopped felt personal.) Peter jogged backwards away from him and trailed June Jones to the door of her apartment to make sure she got in safely.

* * *

Peter went to school the next day, Friday, prepared for MJ to not want to talk to him. Even so, he had that extra piece of privileged information that helped him push past the fact that they’d sort of fought yesterday in order to make sure she was ok. It hurt him to see how noticeably shaken up she was, easy to imagine her mom coming home the night before. Easy to picture that happening to him, with May. He couldn’t directly ask MJ because, obviously, he wasn’t supposed to know that her mom had been attacked. Just like he wasn’t supposed to know one of the attackers had green eyes and the other had a ring through his left eyebrow. Peter had more than an encyclopedia’s worth of details that he could never share.

What surprised him was that MJ told him, right away, about the attempted mugging. She also didn’t use it as an excuse not to see him on the weekend. No, she went with the painfully honest answer of struggling with knowing there was something about him she didn’t understand and wanting space from him because of it. It left Peter deflated, hounded, as he made his way through the halls alone, by the memory that he’d hoped for something to happen the night before.

Since May had discovered his secret, she’d always told him that if he saw or experienced anything really bad during his patrols to wake her up, no matter the hour. Last night hadn’t seemed to qualify at the time because Peter was tired and nobody had been physically injured. Today, he got home from school and spilled it all to his aunt because he was feeling so damn guilty and conflicted. May made him a peanut butter sandwich and promised that things would work out― _but_ that he’d only be able to feel like they had once MJ knew everything. Yeah, May knew him too well. Still helped.

For now, he had to accept that MJ needed to spend the weekend at home with her mom, not someplace with him on another date. Also, he had to accept that it wasn’t that she _needed_ to, it was that she wanted to. She wanted to be someplace that was not with him, seeing someone who was not him. But there had to be a way for him to be there for her.

As Spider-Man, he could stop a mugging. As Peter, he could send flowers.

He had a dozen deep pink peonies arrive at her apartment on Saturday (measly college fund mildly diminished). The gesture he _wanted_ to make was leaving them on her doorstep, but delivery had to cut it. On Sunday, MJ called. Peter was letting her into his building less than an hour later. When he opened the front door of the apartment, MJ stepped forward without hesitation, wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and held tight.

“Thank you for the flowers,” she said into his shirt.

Peter, freaking out, pressed his hands to her back.

“They’re so beautiful,” MJ continued, not letting go yet.

“ _You’re_ so beautiful,” he whispered.

Her lips smoothed across his cheek when she pulled back and he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose. Honestly, the hug was enough. The hug was tons. It just felt good to touch her.

She followed him into the apartment and Peter hung her denim jacket on a hook. They went into the living room and didn’t sit; he found himself glancing shyly at her.

“May’s not here. She does this brunch thing with her friends one Sunday a month. Usually stays out for hours.” He sent MJ nervous eyes. Quietly hopeful.

“You told me when I called,” she reminded him. Subdued. Not unhappy.

“Right,” he breathed. They still didn’t sit down.

“My mom’s not around either,” MJ said after a minute of silence. “She had Friday and Saturday off, which was, I guess, convenient, but she’s… she’s at work today.” Their eyes met.

“You said. On the phone.” Peter cleared his throat.

“Did you miss me?” she abruptly demanded.

His smile yanked his mouth up on one side.

“So much.”

MJ collided with him out of nowhere, pressing her lips aggressively to his. His hands grasped her hips, then slipped upwards, under the hem of her top.

“Did you miss _me_?” he wondered, catching his breath.

She snorted.

“No.”

A laugh skipped out of Peter’s mouth and MJ gave him a brief smirk before going after the underside of his jaw with rough kisses. He gasped.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he muttered, pushing her hips away from his, while his brain went _Shut UP!_

“ _Peter_ ,” she murmured, laying her hands on the backs of his, then curling her fingers under to caress the skin of his inner wrists.

His exhale was earthquake-shaky.

“You’re not just… upset?” Peter checked. “About your mom?”

MJ focused on him more seriously.

“I was. I was furious. Maybe I still am.” She shrugged, skimming his wrists with her fingertips. “Maybe I’m looking for something I can control.”

Her long-sleeved black shirt looked soft. He wanted to run his hands across every bit of it. Gathering his nerve, Peter stared into MJ’s eyes. Oh boy, did she have him wrong.

“Then you better stay out here and mess around with the thermostat,” he advised, “because there’s nothing like that in my room. Which is where I’ll be going in five seconds when I walk away from you.”

He knew the feeling swelling in his chest from every tipping point of every confrontation he’d ever had, every battle he’d ever fought―right before the tension had to go someplace. All he could do now was commit. Taking his hands off her, Peter yanked his shirt over his head. MJ’s gaze was all over him and he bunched up the shirt, pressing it into her stomach until she grabbed it.

“Hang onto that for me,” he requested, straining the hell out of the front of his jeans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You did it! You made it through this chapter's plot and angst! And I got you a cliffhanger for Christmas! (Not on purpose, that's just the way the posting schedule worked out.) Nah, don't worry. Your real present's coming next update. Postal delays or something. Do ya wanna know what it is? Ok, ok, a hint. It starts with an "E." Actually, that's the whole thing, an "E." I know it's a present you kinda already knew was coming, but next Saturday, it officially arrives.
> 
> Thank you very, VERY much for reading! Those of you who comment *really* bring me joy. Each chapter is hours of effort and focus and it feels great to have you say something about what I've worked hard on. The ongoing response to my story (comments and otherwise) has been a tremendous Christmas gift indeed.
> 
> P.S. "June Jones" because 1. alliterative names are mega-Marvel-y and 2. month names for maternal figures was a precedent set by May. I don't make the rules.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My final Saturday of 2018 was spent hosting a large, loud family Christmas party. Most of what I ate today was dessert. The sugar crash took the form of almost falling asleep watching Home Alone. I brought myself back to life listening to the acoustic version of "Linger." This story is less than 100 hits away from being my most-viewed work ever. I'm tired and I'm very, very thankful for you, readers.
> 
> Here is your E.

XIV

Maybe it would’ve been, like, sexier or something if he’d kicked off his jeans and totally stripped to his birthday suit as he strode towards his bedroom, but Peter had done enough rushed undressing to know he couldn’t make it graceful.

Anyway, apparently the shirt thing was enough, because MJ tackled him sideways into his doorway. He turned and they were suddenly panting into each other’s mouths, then Peter had her face in his hands, kissing her like he couldn’t see the end and couldn’t remember the beginning. Of any of it.

“I left… your shirt…” she muttered between kisses, waving vaguely at the living room.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Who had he been before this? Oh right, an Avenger. Pretty big deal. Should’ve had better recall. Except MJ bumped into his erection and he gripped her hips and held her there before barrelling into the room with her (the bedroom door slammed distantly), everything feeling fantastic and familiar as he manoeuvred her to his bed. Apart from the moment where MJ sat up and squirmed out of her shirt. Peter’s heart―or maybe his stomach, or some other organ, or all of them―hit the floor with the discarded item.

“You…” he stumbled out, half-turned and propped on his elbow, “… you’re…”

“Yeah,” MJ agreed, and maybe she was nervous about him seeing her in her bra, or maybe it was just some heat-seeking, evolutionary instinct, but something made her roll into him and cling there, hand sneaking around his side to slide up the bare skin of his back. Peter’s temperature was about a million degrees.

The next kiss felt thick and slow; it was hard to judge time as it passed. The skin of her stomach, arms, chest, back, neck was hot against his, while the sensation of having her in his arms―more naked than ever before!―had Peter on such high alert that he actually had to stealthily glance around to make sure he wasn’t missing an incoming call from Mr. Stark or an ugly alien vessel hovering over Queens. The amount she turned him on felt that close to supernatural.

Gently, he let MJ’s back fully touch the mattress, then moved over her, lips still stuck like glue to hers. Holding himself over her took balls, Peter was discovering. There was nothing like this pose. It was primal, intentional, erotic to mount her, terrifying to swing his hips into hers when she looked him in the eye and made space for him between her legs. He fell on her with a hunger that sped everything up. His fingers kneaded alongside her spine and MJ rocked upward, kissing him loosely and demandingly with her forearm hooked around the back of his neck. Hips moving all on their own, Peter just tried not to crush her, bruise her (he had good grip, ok?), or forget to breathe―in that order of priority.

Rubbing against her felt… _phenomenal_. Like this was the sensation his altered biology had been made to strive for. Peter scraped his fingers downward from her back to her hip, catching her thigh and hoisting it as rational thought fucked off for some ‘me time’ and left him with heavy lust. MJ’s fingers had been slipping through the strands of his hair, but when he wiggled just right, those fingers twisted and gripped. And that mouth. MJ pulled back and panted, brown eyes half-open at best. It was absurd to Peter just seeing her head on his pillow, if everything else had been stripped away.

He loved the way she smelled―her hair, her skin―and that his bed was going to smell like her.

Was this, was this going to happen? Today? Right now? Peter wondered a lot more intently when MJ’s warm breath hit his chest, her head lifted to look down his body as her shaky fingers unbuttoned his jeans. She unzipped him and they both exhaled. God, that felt better. But maybe, now, it was gonna be too much for MJ. The seriousness, the closeness, would strike her and it would all be a hell of a lot trickier to laugh off this time since they were both half-naked. Crap, crap, crap. MJ grabbed his jaw between her finger and thumb and made him realize his gaze had drifted while he panicked.

She didn’t say anything. Winding her leg around the back of his and swaying his hips forcefully with hers communicated plenty. Peter groaned and messily kissed her cheek; she found his mouth with hers. He could’ve sworn his dick had never been harder―bowing his boxers out between the undone front of his jeans―and some dominant part of him wanted MJ to yield to the force he felt freakishly capable of bringing to bear. Not good. _Not good_.

Peter gasped as he stroked automatically against MJ again. Probably time to call it, right? He sucked in air, tucking his face into her neck, smelling her flushed skin. Teeth clamped together, he began to gentle and slow his movements. He counted on himself to do right by this amazing girl. He counted on his spider-given powers of control. He did _not_ count on MJ, who ran her hands up his chest and quietly said, “More.”

When she anticipated him by adding, “Yeah, Peter, I’m sure,” he snorted a laugh into his pillow. But MJ didn’t tease him, or argue, or even tell him sternly to get his shit together. Actually, she was completely silent. Peter lifted himself up from her body and, in the plain light of day, saw a timid expression.

“M?”

“Maybe… not so bright? Don’t get me wrong,” she ordered immediately, eyes on his chest instead of his face, “I’m confident as hell, but it’s different having someone else looking at me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” said Peter, nodding eagerly. He crawled off of her and tried not to stare. “So, you still want―”

“YES!” MJ shouted, making Peter jump and almost stumble as he stood. She laughed as he glared at her and went to shut his blackout curtains (a city necessity). “Tick tock… though I am going to miss being able to see all of _that_ as clearly as I can right now.”

“All of wh…?” He’d turned to look at her and realized she meant _him_. His body. Shirtless. Hair ruffled by her fingers. Jeans hanging open and trying to drop off his hips. Peter’s face went red. “Can’t have it both ways,” he told MJ and flicked the curtains closed.

“Better?” he asked, padding back to the bed.

The bed. The bed with MJ on it, turned on her side from tracking him to the window. Peter knew he could see her a lot better than she could see him right now. The adjustment to their lighting situation might have been at her request, but he was just as grateful for it (he assumed); focusing had long come easier in the dark. It took him back to his first black goggles that Mr. Stark had mocked when he came to recruit Peter years ago. Depriving one sense still narrowed his world like nothing else. Though the main thing he was picking up―lifting his feet off the ground to get back onto the bed―was the sound of his own heart.

“Yep,” MJ quietly confirmed, sitting up and finding his shoulder in the dark.

Wow, he was nervous. Should he just… should he touch her again? He started by holding her hand. Man, it had all seemed so much simpler a minute ago, but purposefully returning to the spot where he wanted to do, honestly, all kinds of things with MJ was way more difficult than staggering there in the first place. Peter had to recognize this as a choice, and what that choice might entail if he wanted it to. And if MJ wanted it. And if May stuck to her established pattern of long Sunday brunches.

“I didn’t know if you’d come back here,” he blurted out, starting to lie down at her side.

“I do still have questions,” she confessed, before replacing the hand on his shoulder with lingering kisses.

Peter sighed in longing and shifted closer, tangling their legs at the ankle.

“Like?”

“Like where did all this…” He flinched and tingled as MJ’s hand stroked his abdomen. “… come from? ‘Cause I really don’t think being in a gym class where you play dodgeball half the time and do a dozen sit-ups, like, once a month when Robertson remembers there’s such a thing as a curriculum can really take credit. ”

Peter opened his mouth, willing something smart and believable, yet close enough to the truth that he didn’t feel _super_ guilty, to come out.

“Nevermind,” MJ said, cutting him off before he could start, “not now.”

Her hand found the back of his neck and guided him into a kiss. Soon, her touch, her warmth, the gasps she tried to stifle when Peter carefully bit the thin skin of her throat, had him crossing that line into his own personal Goldilocks Zone of confidence―ideal for fighting bad guys and, apparently, for turning MJ on. Wild.

Peter tipped her onto her back, hastily kissing her neck as his hips dragged between hers.

“More, you said?” he mumbled against her skin.

MJ nodded readily, then inhaled sharply through her nose when Peter ran his mouth down to the top of her breast. Soon, soon, they would tap the brakes like they had before, but not yet. Peter would know when it was time to stop. He held the sides of her ribcage, then skipped his palms up to peel down the cups of her bra, moving his lips immediately over her bare skin.

“This what you wanted?” Peter panted, tonguing her nipple as MJ’s shoulders shivered against the mattress. Her fingers firmly kneaded the back of his neck.

Right after he’d said it, he realized it was a little ambiguous; had MJ heard him politely double-checking her limits or making a dirtier rhetorical demand? Wait… what did he _want_ her to hear? Peter could’ve sworn the Dark Side was speaking to him, and it was shouting ‘DIRTY’ into the echoing cave his mind had become at the sight of MJ’s naked body.

“Well, I’m sure you’re trying,” she replied sarcastically. Unthinkingly, Peter bit her nipple, making MJ gasp and skate her fingers in rough tracks up into his hair.

Oh, she liked that? He scooted back slightly on his knees, face still against her, and let a hot breath go shuddering over the skin between her breasts. Cock _throbbing_ , he tugged MJ’s jeans down.

“So, can I do this then?”

Peter’s hand moved with an untraceably inherited sureness to land on the front of her underwear. He rocked his heel back, fingers stretched in the direction of her bellybutton, and his supersensitive skin screamed, ‘DAMP.’ Or maybe it was the Dark Side again. Dammit, he didn’t need to be getting his powers and Star Wars conflated right now. Peter looked to MJ’s face to shove away the image of Emperor Palpatine. She was chewing hard at her lip. Still watching her, he rotated his hand and slipped it into her underwear. MJ’s eyelids twitched shut.

“ _Please_ ,” she told him.

Now there could be no bluffing, no stumbling his way to the right answer like he could on an unfamiliar question during decathlon practice. Peter came forward, draping himself again over MJ while his fingers carefully crept, then slid, into wetness. He rubbed his stiffness not-quite-satisfyingly into her hip. They were both breathing _so loud_ , he thought, but then MJ was almost hiccupping in air while Peter smeared arousal from the place he dared not penetrate up to… to… MJ cried out. Yep, he’d found her clitoris.

Being in a dark room didn’t change the fact that Peter knew he was blushing―except it wasn’t really embarrassment, it was something like sweltering yearning. He kissed MJ hard partly just for the excuse to clamp his eyes shut and focus on his sense of touch. Dear _Thor_ , she was slick. And sonofabillionaire, he’d helped do this. Make this. Release this. He trapped her clit under the tip of his middle finger and wiggled up and down. MJ moaned into his mouth. He did it a little faster and she grabbed the forearm of the hand playing with her and dug her nails into his skin. Longer strokes got her hips to jerk. How about side to side, for the pure, beautiful pursuit of scientific knowledge? MJ’s lips separated from Peter’s and her legs tried to fall open for him. (He paused the exploration to quickly tear her jeans and underwear down and push them off to the side.)

This was… not real. He was going to wake up humping a fisted clump of sheets that he’d used to think were soft before he’d felt the skin of MJ’s bare legs. He’d go to school and see her across the hall talking to some guy who’d be, ok, not _smarter_ than him, but less awkward and probably taller, and he’d pine like he always did. His fingers would hold a pen, a water bottle, the straps of his backpack, and never her. Seriously, Peter had already gotten the Avengers, and life was hard. People didn’t get _two_ dreams.

Another consideration was that he was a man of science and could feel himself touching her (and her touching _him_ , gripping the crap out of his arm), actually giving MJ pleasure that she showed him by getting wetter and hotter and less predictable in her low moaning until she orgasmed. Just like that. The most exciting thing that had ever happened in his bedroom, including the first time he’d walked across the ceiling. Peter was definitely more stunned than MJ, lifting his hand off her when her tensed body slumped back into his sheets, though he couldn’t be certain who was more satisfied.

Despite how overwhelmed he felt, Peter figured it might be hitting his girlfriend―girlfriend! Still not totally used to that―a little harder. He laid at her side (on her jeans, from the feel of the lump bunched up under him) and attempted to hold MJ close after she’d fixed her bra and slipped her underwear back on.

“Shhh,” he said to her shaky breathing. “It’s ok. I’m right here.”

MJ courteously turned her head to give him the privilege of seeing her eyes roll.

“Relax, loser. What do you think I’m gonna do? Cry?”

Except then she _did_ cry and Peter was so confused by what he was feeling (guilty, startled, still erect)―but again, apparently he wasn’t beating MJ because then she was laughing. He really just had no idea what was going on and all his biological bonus features felt kinda useless.

“Oh my god,” MJ snickered before forcefully exhaling. “Ok, phew, let me get a hold of myself. I just…”

Gently, she moved Peter’s arm off of her and abruptly sat up. Ok, maybe his superhumanness was handy after all because he sat up fast enough to catch her when she swayed.

“Dizzy?”

“Just a little lightheaded.”

“That’s the same thing,” he said.

“Jeeze, nerd, who you trying to impress?”

“You,” Peter mumbled, the hands he had holding her back and shoulder softly caressing instead. “Always you.”

MJ tilted towards him and he thought she was going to kiss him. But no, still dizzy and having a tough time righting her depth perception without more light.

“Put your head between my knees,” he urged her earnestly.

She did actually fall across Peter’s lap as his eyes widened in horror, but it was only because she was laughing _that_ hard.

“You know what I meant,” he argued with her jumping shoulder blades.

“Yeah,” she agreed, sitting up and wiping her eyes, “which is why I’m laughing and not slapping you.”

MJ bent her legs up in front of her as the giggles died out and Peter hooked her raised knee in the warm crook of his elbow. They stared at the wall.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, glancing at her, “for letting me―”

“Shut up,” MJ complained, and, after taking a long look at his face with hers only inches away, laid her head gently on his shoulder.

* * *

“Goodness, Peter, you’re _glowing_.”

Hurriedly, Peter yanked his mask back down and stepped into the shadow of a building taller than the one whose roof he was currently resting on. His little drone guy zipped down to hover about a yard from his face; looked like Mr. Stark could spy on him that way after all. Super.

“It’s just the sunset,” he explained, trying to keep his face from lighting up as fuchsia as the sky when Tony’s connection switched from the drone to the inside of his suit.

“Well,” Mr. Stark said flippantly, “whatever you kids are calling it these days.”

Sure, Thanos hadn’t done lasting damage to Peter, but embarrassment might kill him. For crying out loud, he hadn’t even slept with MJ! Watching her like _that_ , the way she’d been in his bed hours earlier, had left him aching―of course it had―but once his girlfriend’s incomprehensible mood shifts had leveled off and she’d made her move on him, Peter had gently stopped things. She’d been frustrated with him, he knew, which meant she was smarter than it would’ve been convenient for her to be, which he also knew; if MJ had bought that Peter just didn’t _want_ to go any further, he was certain she never would’ve gotten annoyed. She wasn’t some disrespectful sleaze who just wanted sex. Clearly, she’d given a tug to the string of his reluctance and found it descended deep into the blind pit of his secrets. It was something MJ had realized the same time Peter did.

Because, really, what the hell was he waiting for? He’d been trying to figure that out when Mr. Stark had butted in. And fine, maybe Peter _was_ looking like he’d enjoyed a little healthy exertion―honestly, he couldn’t imagine anything much more satisfying than the privilege of touching MJ’s naked body―but he wasn’t ‘glowing.’ He wasn’t.

“Speaking of calling…,” Peter encouraged.

“Right, right, right,” Tony agreed. “I’ve got something for ya, kid.”

Peter straightened up, alert and attentive.

“What can I do?”

“Now, don’t get too excited, it’s just a perimeter check. Comfortably within the realm of your workaday superhero thing, or whatever you call it.”

“Friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man,” Peter mumbled.

“Maybe start with the train lines: ride around, do a sweep, keep your eyes open for anything… strange.”

“Like… _magically_ strange?” he wondered, his memory snagging like Velcro on a certain red cape and the guy who wore it.

“Damn that wizard. I can never use that word anymore. But no,” Tony informed him, “just regular strange. It’s a minor concern at this point, but make sure you ride the whole route. No jumping off to rescue a cat out of a tree.”

“I think I can manage that,” Peter assured him, refusing to feel insulted. It was Avengers time now, and he had to focus. Why he hadn’t done more with MJ, even though he’d wanted to, would just have to stay a mystery a little longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come back next year/week for an MJ chapter!
> 
> Much more E to come in 2019!
> 
> P.S. Happy Birthday, Callysto!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I received the absolute sweetest comments on my last chapter. Thank you SO much to everyone who has taken the time to say something about my work. Your kind words made for a very smooth and contented transition into 2019. Every stat on this story that AO3 measures is way beyond what any of my stories have reached before. You all amaze me.
> 
> On to MJ chapter number three!

XV

Back on her old beat, MJ stole through the halls largely unobserved, earbuds in and eyes open. A trench coat might’ve been fun. Music was only a distraction from the things she didn’t want to see (jock posturing to the left, teachers with cartoon character mugs to the right, and neon signs advertising an upcoming dance on every bulletin board), leaving her senses free to scope for something nefarious at best, or her next sketch subject at worst. There should’ve been lots for her to catch up with, now that she finally had some spare time, but all MJ could really think about was _why_ she had that spare time: Peter wasn’t around.

Yeah, he’d shown up to class on time every day this week. That wasn’t the problem. It was nice to have a smart boyfriend, but MJ found she could really care less if he chose to come in late or skip a test. The annoyance was the in-between time (lunch, breaks, the walk home from school)―time she’d gotten used to Peter spending with her. Of course she asked him about it, except he was being incredibly tight-lipped. Two days ago, on Tuesday, she’d tried the element of surprise: she’d checked that the surrounding area was mostly empty, then run her fingers into Peter’s hair while he was filling his backpack and shoved him against his locker in a passionate kiss. Before demanding to know where he was off to. Obviously. The word ‘train’ had come stumbling from his lips… and then nothing more as he clammed up.

 _What was that supposed to mean?_ MJ wondered as she looped her academic territory. Was it the secret behind his jaw-droppingly fit body? Peter was suddenly prioritizing his fitness and passing up lunch for private training sessions somewhere? If that was even the answer, she still couldn’t understand why the hell he would do that. Although, if she considered it, he did seem the type to have an obsessive hobby. And as much as MJ tried to tell herself to back off, to step into the shadows, play private eye, and watch…

She wanted that obsessive hobby to be her.

At this point, the uncertainty regarding his whereabouts was more of a friend to her than the theory she kept trying to cram into the back corner of her mind, the one that said _she_ was the reason Peter was pulling away. Her self-doubt was digging in and contorting into a vicious bear trap, trying to ensnare and unsettle her by flinging pathetic, contradictory suggestions. He didn’t want her anymore because she’d given him too much. He didn’t want her anymore because she hadn’t given him enough. MJ didn’t have time for this shit. She trusted Peter, really. What she knew of him. When he was around. Couldn’t stop her from wondering why he’d held himself back the weekend prior.

She was desperate to uncover what it was he was waiting for. Instead, she was uncovering a whole lotta nothing. MJ managed to raise one other question to herself: what had she done between classes before she’d started hanging out with Peter? Oh right. She’d just _stared_ at him. Man, she wanted her boyfriend back so she had somebody to be creepy with. At least there was still the fallback if she wanted to be creepy alone.

Around nine hours and three pencil-dented pages later, MJ sat in her bedroom―back wedged weirdly into the corner in a way she’d probably regret when she actually tried to sleep―and felt both better and worse. Parts of these new sketches in the Night Pad showed definite progress; she was easing a fluidity into the line of an arm from shoulder to fingertip, and beginning to capture subtler emotions in the face. But the progress wasn’t reaching in beyond the extremities. Fuck, if she and Peter regressed back to handholding, she’d be world-class at drawing knuckles and garbage at shaping things like tight chest muscles, masculine sub-navel fuzz, soft yet firm inner thighs… MJ wanted to scream.

Her abilities, or lack thereof, weren’t getting in the way. The block was someplace tougher to pinpoint than the signal that shot from her brain to her fingers and said _pick up that pencil and make an ear!_ Bottom line: it was unacceptable. Peter Parker, that entitled punk, was screwing everything up, and for what? MJ didn’t know right now, folding up her pad and flopping under her blankets, but she planned to spite her insecurities by having such a freaking good sleep that it’d be no problem to solve this soon. She’d sort it all out and everything (her sketching, her fledgling relationship, her strained curiosity) would be better. Yes, she would fix this and then she would finally be able to put Peter on paper like she wanted to. MJ would draw Peter Parker’s penis if it killed her. The effort, not the penis.

* * *

“Everything ok?”

MJ heard Cindy, abstractedly, but didn’t look up.

“Uh huh.”

“So… are you going to sever the optic nerve, or should I?”

MJ raised her head with a jerk and glanced at her lab partner. Wow, the air was better up here. Less formaldehyde-y.

“What?” she asked, searching Cindy’s face. The other girl pointed at their sterile metal tray and the slimy object upon it.

“You’ve been staring at Lucky’s eyeball for, like, five minutes. I don’t want to be the last team to finish the dissection.”

Quickly, MJ looked around, observing the pairs of her classmates at the rest of the desks in the physics classroom. Some people were laughing, others appearing borderline nauseous. At the station behind theirs, Betty didn’t seem to be breathing at all, only staring in horror while her partner made an unflinching incision that released the sludgey vitreous humor.

“Right,” MJ agreed, focusing as she picked up their prepared lab handout. “You cut, I’ll do the sketches and descriptions.”

Weirdly―and maybe, beyond that, _disturbingly_ ―continuing the dissection of the sheep’s eye they’d been given at the start of the period seemed to calm MJ’s slightly high-strung partner. Some days, their dissimilar personalities made them a great team; other days, the difference had Cindy stressing while MJ became hypnotized by the cloudy, reeking eyeball of an ironically named farm animal. Evidently.

Scalpel in hand, Cindy proceeded meticulously and MJ sketched along in companionable silence, not too bothered by the subject’s more gruesome details.

“It’s Friday,” Cindy announced after a calming exhale.

“No,” MJ corrected, glancing from the disassembled organ to her friend, “it’s Lucky.”

Cindy gave her a look and pushed away their sullied tray for collection by the teacher before heading to the deep sink at the side of the classroom. MJ followed.

“Sorry. It’s Friday…?” she prompted as Cindy cupped her hand and loaded it with industrial-strength soft soap.

“Yes, and I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to look at dresses. For the dance,” she added, washing her hands, when MJ didn’t say anything.

“Oh.”

“You’re going, right?” She was drying her hands with brown paper towel like she wanted to take the top layer of skin off too. MJ could only imagine. She could’ve done with a shower ASAP, and she hadn’t even touched the eyeball. The stink was pervasive.

“Probably.” She shrugged.

“Didn’t Peter ask you?” Cindy’s inquiry came with a subtle, knowing smile. MJ knew she should’ve been firmer about not letting Peter hold her hand at school. Of course, it was inevitable that people would find out.

“Not so far,” MJ admitted. “Are _you_ going with somebody?” she quickly asked, turning the conversation away from herself.

“Ned asked me yesterday,” Cindy confided, darting a look over MJ’s shoulder as they walked back to their desk, clearly seeking out the boy in question across the classroom.

“That’s great,” MJ said sincerely. “Good for you guys. The dance isn’t for a while though, right?”

Cindy frowned at her incredulously.

“It’s next Saturday. Haven’t you seen the posters? Betty’s practically wallpapered the cafeteria by now.”

“I haven’t been in there much this week,” MJ mumbled. Then, louder, “So, where do you want to look for your outfit?”

Cindy sighed contemplatively and leaned against their desk, tucking her long hair behind her ears.

“Anywhere with dresses on the main floor. I’m still not big on elevators.” She shuddered and MJ stepped towards her.

“Since Washington?”

“Yeah.” Looking uncomfortable, Cindy started filling her backpack. “It just hits me every so often, you know? If Spider-Man hadn’t been there, I never would’ve gotten to go to another dance.”

“Or flip a sheep’s eyeball inside out,” MJ joked, nudging her arm. Cindy’s shoulders relaxed and she sent MJ a grin.

“Or that. Even if I do plan on spending my night washing my hands a million times because of it.”

They pulled out their lab stools and sat in peaceful silence until the bell rang. MJ wasn’t sure what was on Cindy’s mind, but she was still hung up on their conversation. Not the part about shopping for a dress. As they left the classroom at the end of the period, dodging a precariously carried tray, MJ stuck close to her friend.

“It was pretty strange, right? Spider-Man being there in Washington.”

“Yeah,” Cindy agreed, though she was waving at someone across the hall as the rooms emptied for the day.

“I mean,” MJ persisted, “in all the times he’s been mentioned on the local news, or gone viral on YouTube, it’s always been a New York sighting.”

“I guess,” Cindy said. “I want to get out shopping early tomorrow, ok? Should I call you and we can meet somewhere?”

MJ sighed.

“Sure, that’s fine.”

“Ok, see you then!”

She left MJ standing in the swarm of students, alone with her frown and her questions.

* * *

June dug her toes into MJ’s thigh, prodding urgently and making her daughter smack the top of her foot.

“You can just _ask_ me to pass the popcorn,” MJ informed her, handing over the bowl she’d been cradling.

“ _Shhh!_ ” her mother hissed. Blindly, she grabbed a handful. MJ steadied the bowl to keep it from upending on their couch.

Minutes later, the episode ended and June started collecting the bits of popcorn she’d strewn down the front of her shirt during her distracted feasting. They were spending their Friday night binging the previous season of _How to Get Away with Murder_ ―MJ’s mom loved anything with intense drama, as long as it wasn’t doctor drama, for obvious reasons.

“Next one?” MJ asked, digging the remote out from between couch cushions.

“Let’s talk for a bit.”

MJ groaned and sunk back into the couch.

“Yes, yes, I know how I make you suffer. Poor baby.” The toes prodded again.

“Did you wash your feet when you came home? They always smell after your shift.”

“Wanna check?” June slid down in her seat to extend her leg towards her daughter’s end of the couch, foot coming unwelcomingly close to her face.

MJ wriggled away.

“I’m going to scream. The neighbours will think you’re murdering me.”

“They would never think that,” June argued. “I’m the nice, trustworthy doctor lady, ‘member?”

“They only think that because they’ve never been tortured by your foot odour.”

“One measly chat with your mama and the torture will end. Promise.” The toes wiggled, then retreated.

MJ shifted, turned to face her mother.

“What?” she demanded.

“You know,” June began thoughtfully, “it was such a tough choice between sending you to etiquette school or science and tech, but seeing those lovely manners that you developed all on your own always reassures me that I made the right decision.”

“They gave me an A+ in burping last week.”

“I’m so proud.” A satisfied grin was June’s transition from joking into the real conversation. “Where are you meeting Cindy tomorrow?”

“Starbucks, then we’ll probably take the bus.” MJ had arranged it with her friend earlier, catching her with the call between hand washes.

“I know you know what’s coming,” her mom conceded, “but I want you to be really careful when you go out tomorrow―”

“―in broad daylight,” MJ cut in.

“If you start with the sarcasm, you better believe I’m going to make you hold my hand while I _walk_ you to Starbucks,” June threatened. MJ shut up. “Don’t take your safety for granted. You can’t leave it all up to Spider-Man. I’m sure the kid’s got enough to deal with in this city.”

They’d been over June’s attack, but one word stood out in this reminder. MJ frowned in surprise.

“Kid?”

“Well, not _kid_ , he just sounded pretty young. But you heard him,” her mother reminded her. “In Washington. You told me he said something to you.”

“Oh…” MJ tried to think back. “Yeah, I didn’t really notice his voice. I was thinking about everybody stuck inside the Monument.”

She was working at the memory, attempting to clean it off like a window she wanted to see through, when her mom grabbed her by the ankle and dragged MJ’s leg over into her lap.

 “I want you to text me when you get there tomorrow,” June requested, “and when you’re on your way home.”

“Ok.”

“And remind me in the morning to give you money for a dress.” Her thumb rubbed soothingly into the arch of MJ’s foot.

“I’m not sure I’m going to the dance,” she said with a bit of a whine.

“You are. It’s something to look forward to. Now, put on the next show. I want to see what despicable thing Frank does next.”

MJ snorted.

“I think you’re supposed to be cheering for the heroes.”

“How do you know _he’s_ not a hero?”

Apparently, the question was rhetorical because her mom, impatient with MJ’s hogging of the remote, had snatched it away and started the next episode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple things:  
> 1\. Hands up if you dissected a sheep's eye in high school physics. *raises hand*  
> 2\. I'm on Tumblr as forasecondtherewedwon. Used to be my Riverdale fanfic/incorrect quotes blog, then I abandoned it for several months, now it's my Spider-Man fanfic/incorrect quotes blog. Trying to suddenly come back to Tumblr AND abruptly switch fandoms feels like walking on newborn giraffe legs, so please come be my friend and learn to love (tolerate) this personality not just once a week, but every day.  
> 3\. Next chapter, it's time for MJ and Peter to sit down and have a talk. Sort of.  
> 4\. You know how I write to stay a little bit ahead of what I'm posting? Yeah, I'd like to report from the future that MJ and Peter are leading happy, post-virginal lives.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see the numbers. You're smart. You get it. The response to this story blows my mind week after week. Thanks for coming, and thanks for coming back!
> 
> We open, this evening, on the not unfamiliar scene of a high school gym class. We see a pair of teenage boys (one, our young hero), deep into not-so-deep conversation. The topic? Peter Park's rear end. Let's listen in...

XVI

“Are the bleachers vibrating or is it my butt again?”

“It’s your butt,” Ned informed Peter without looking over.

“Gettin’ real tired of this,” Peter complained, sitting forward a little to rub away the phantom tremor in his backside.

“Of secret missions?” Now Ned stared at him like he might kill him and take his place as Spider-Man. Right now, Peter almost wanted to tell his best friend that he was welcome to it.

“No,” he groaned, “just… of trains.”

They were distracted for a minute as a rogue volleyball sailed high and fast over the net straight for them; Flash wasn’t exactly a star athlete in their gym class, but he had a weird proficiency for spiking a volleyball―particularly, it seemed, when he had a human target. Peter caught the ball no problem and tossed it back to a member of the team opposite to Flash’s.

“You don’t have to sit on _top_ of the train,” Ned pointed out.

“How am I supposed to see anything if I’m crammed inside?”

“I don’t know, dude, isn’t that what your super senses are for?”

“I can’t see _through_ _people_ ,” Peter hissed, trying to keep his voice down so he didn’t catch the teacher’s eye. By his own assessment, Peter wasn’t tall enough to reasonably be that good at volleyball and he was too train-worn to feel like faking mediocrity today. Instead, he’d just pretended to roll his ankle early on, lunging forward for the ball. Which had rebounded into the back of Flash’s head. Which maybe explained the retaliation. Anyway, he had no idea what Ned’s excuse for sitting out was supposed to be, but it was nice to have company.

“Has Stark told you what the point of this is yet?”

“Perimeter check, that’s all he said,” Peter promised for probably the fourth time.

“Don’t you have _any_ answers for me?” Ned sighed, annoyed. Peter snorted a genuine laugh. It felt good not to be in this alone, even though he was basically in this alone until somebody told him what the hell was going on.

“Ask easier questions,” he suggested.

Ned seemed to ponder this and Peter stared out over the grunting sea of science and technology nerds striving to play volleyball. There was a majestic beauty in it, almost. Blast a little classical music in through the speakers. Definite potential.

“Ok, help me with Cindy,” Ned implored.

Peter frowned.

“What? Help? Man, you already asked her to the dance. The hard part’s over.”

“You are such a liar,” Ned accused. “The asking only seems like the hard part until you’ve done it, which is when you realize it was actually the easy part and you shouldn’t have taken it for granted because _now_ the hard part starts, with the planning and the picking her up at her house. Her mom is some kind of linguistics genius and her dad is an architect. An _architect_ , Peter,” he stressed, like he’d just told Peter Cindy’s father had been the first man to walk on Jupiter. “What am I supposed to say to an architect?”

“You could try ‘hi,’ and if that doesn’t work, maybe ‘hello.’”

“I was speedreading the Frank Lloyd Wright Wikipedia page during lunch, but I’m not sure how much of that I’m going to retain,” Ned went on, dropping his face heavily into his upturned palms.

“I’m glad you’ve found a way to entertain yourself while I’m not here,” Peter said.

“This is not entertainment. Entertainment is supposed to be relaxing. This is the most stressed I’ve ever been in my life.”

Peter considered this.

“What about when you were helping me track bad guys?”

“The memory is like a warm hug of nostalgia.” Peter rolled his eyes. “Seriously, Peter,” Ned insisted, “bestow your wisdom upon me. You have successfully asked not one but _two_ girls to dances and managed not to have a complete breakdown. _How?!_ ”

While it was sort of flattering to have these terrifying obstacles that he had overcome recognized, Peter thought Ned was getting a little manic at this point and decided it was relatively safe to disappoint him.

“Actually, just one. I haven’t had a chance to talk to MJ about it.”

“What? Why?”

Peter narrowed his eyes at Ned’s judgemental tone. Where had the idolization gone?

“Because I’m busy. Riding trains,” he said, exasperated. “Getting pins and needles in places I didn’t even know you could!”

“Oh my god, Peter, the dance is in five days! Don’t wait for the end of the world _again_ to ask MJ out.”

“I won’t,” Peter argued defensively. “And who said end of the world? This is definitely not an end of the world type thing. Mr. Stark would not have me preparing for the end of the world by riding the Yellow Line all weekend.”

“Why are you avoiding her?”

“I’m not,” he grumbled.

Ned chuckled. Totally unnecessary.

“You so are.”

* * *

_She’s not gonna be mad_ , Peter told himself. _She’s gonna be happy to see you because you haven’t spent time with her in a while. Because you missed decathlon practice today. Even though you were the one who insisted on her scheduling it for every Tuesday. She’s not gonna be mad_ , he circled back to.

While he was struggling with his guilt on the sidewalk, one of MJ’s neighbours bumbled to the door of the building, arms full of packages of paper towels and… a dog? Peter waited until the neighbour had the door unlocked, then helpfully pulled it wide.

“Cute dog,” he complimented, slipping inside behind the man. “I’m just going to visit my girlfriend. She lives here. Upstairs.”

It seemed like the man couldn’t care less, heading for the elevator. At least the dog gave Peter an interested look over the guy’s shoulder. He decided to take it as a thank you for holding the door.

Peter bounded up the steps, trying to remember if MJ had ever explicitly told him her apartment number or whether he’d just have to bluff around that detail if interrogated. He’d gone home already―just briefly―ostensibly to dump his backpack, but really to use up enough time for MJ to beat him here. He was way too fidgety to wait beyond that.

He knocked sharply at her door and felt a surge of affection as it quickly opened. He wondered if MJ was hoping it was him.

“Oh,” Peter said, mouth suddenly dry. “Hi.”

“Hi,” said the lady he’d saved from an armed mugging a week and a half before. She sounded amused and he felt the vague smothering embarrassment of confronting the mother of the girl whose jeans his hand had been down. “You _have_ to be Peter.”

“That’s right,” he said, believing he might have agreed to any identification she chose to give him at that moment. Picturing May’s _use your manners_ expression, Peter stuck out his hand. “Peter Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I’m June.” She had a wide, comforting smile and a friendly grip. He still felt kinda queasy. “Why don’t you come inside?”

Nodding, he stepped past MJ’s mom when she opened the door and stood aside for him. A living room with scattered, brightly coloured pillows stretched out ahead of him. Looked like a kitchen off to the left. There was a rustling like disgruntled pigeon wings coming from deeper in the apartment, but Peter judged it as something a normal person wouldn’t be able to hear from where he was standing (though he was certain it was MJ doing something). MJ. In her bedroom. Truly, the stuff of fantasies.

“What brings you over today?”

Peter spun to face June.

“I missed… decathlon,” he covered, narrowly catching himself before MJ’s name could escape. _Moron_ , he thought. “I felt really bad about it, plus I was hoping MJ could tell me what topics they covered so I could, I could catch up. In my spare time.”

June’s eyebrows lifted playfully.

“You couldn’t have found that out from a phone call?”

His mouth hung open unhelpfully for a few seconds.

“I didn’t think of that.”

With an un-patronizing chuckle, June waved him off.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get Michelle.” June began to walk off, leaving Peter awkwardly swinging his arms just inside the door, but turned back. “Have we met before, Peter? Something about you is so familiar.”

She was looking at him closer, starting to squint (it was unnervingly MJ-ish), and Peter’s heart was jackrabbiting.

“Nope,” he swore. “I’d remember. ‘Cause you’re really nice.”

June let out a loud laugh.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s sweet, Peter, but you’re staring at me like I’m about to waterboard you. Let me go talk Sourpuss out of her den.”

When she emerged, MJ looked like she’d been roused from hibernation, or hypnosis, like the world she was familiar with wasn’t supposed to feature Peter standing in the entryway of her apartment. He wondered what she’d been so focused on to seem disoriented by his presence, then noticed her flexing her fingers and saw light slide and shine along the side of her hand where the skin was smudged with graphite. The same light―long light, stretching out for her from a window as the afternoon aged―caught her eyes while she approached him, wordlessly. For an instant, her irises blazed amber; a pair of traffic lights compelling Peter to proceed with caution.

“It’s good to see you,” he said, quickly and softly.

MJ stared at him for a slow minute and he could only imagine all the possible responses she had running through her brain. She exhaled, dropping her shoulders.

“You too, stranger.” _Ouch_. “It was really annoying how you weren’t at decathlon today. I think the captain has it out for you.”

Peter’s smile gradually curved up.

“I’ll have to tread carefully, I guess.”

“Or just show up.” A pleading expression appeared and disappeared from her face. “Peter,” MJ said, stepping towards him and reaching to touch his wrist.

He sighed. MJ sighed much more aggressively.

“I _hate_ interfering,” she said. “I was totally comfortable lurking in detentions and watching people and not sticking my nose in, but you’re forcing me. If you want us to keep going out, you’re forcing me to be this person who cares and has questions.”

The smile returned, cautiously, to his face.

“You couldn’t just try not being so curious, could you.” Peter already knew it was a no, so he couldn’t put any effort into lifting it into a question.

“It’s your monster, Frankenstein. You have to deal with what you created.”

He nodded.

“I want to work on that. Can we go someplace? Just for a bit?”

“Upstate?”

Peter huffed a laugh.

“No.”

“Bora Bora? The moon?”

“Ice cream?” he suggested hopefully.

“Dork,” MJ commented, then turned to grab a jacket and keys. “Mom!” she yelled down the hall where Peter assumed the bedrooms were located. “I’m just going down the street with Peter!”

“Back for supper?” June shouted back.

“Yep!”

She brushed past Peter and propped the door open for him with her foot so he could exit ahead of her. He twitched and jittered in the dry hallway, heart racing, blood flowing too fast through his body as he watched MJ lock up.

“It’d be pretty inappropriate to kiss you right now, right?” he checked the second she turned around. MJ quirked her head the tiniest amount.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, grasping the front of his jacket in a tight fist. “I should probably be really cold to you until you’ve explained your―”

Peter backed MJ up fast into the wall next to her closed door, mouth urgent on hers. Though she’d clearly known it was coming (had, in fact, yanked him forward, if he wasn’t mistaken), she made a high _mmph!_ before cupping his face in both her hands. His hands stayed on her waist because he absolutely didn’t trust himself to let them wander at will. Their lips were frantic enough, pressing and pulling, parting only for the occasional gasp.

“Ok, ok,” she said breathlessly after a couple of minutes. Peter drew back and grinned, his adoring gaze on her red face. “If my mom comes out for some reason and sees this, she may actually murder me.”

“Not me?”

“Oh, you first,” MJ clarified. “I thought that was obvious. I’m just selfishly thinking about me.”

“I think you’re allowed to be selfish about survival,” he said in a joking tone.

“And you?”

Peter paused, trying to pretend he was only attempting to catch his breath.

“I’m allowed to be selfish about wanting ice cream. Let’s go.”

He grabbed her hand and led her down the stairs. The graphite was slick under his fingers. While he was trying not to catch MJ’s eye, Peter also got the feeling that she was letting him lead. She was watching him again (like always) and he wasn’t sure yet whether that petrified or calmed him. Not that she _could_ see it, but if there was a chance for MJ to observe him enough to start disintegrating his secret at the other end―like the two dogs chomping away on the same strand of spaghetti―would he want that? Would it be better?

“Why are you staring at me?” MJ demanded, voice thick from the white chocolate raspberry ice cream melting on her tongue. Oh, what Peter wouldn’t give to forsake good manners and lean across their little round table in the corner of the ice cream shop and taste it... He cleared his throat.

“I don’t know if you know this, but you’re insanely pretty.” To combat his warming cheeks, Peter lapped up a mouthful of lemon gelato.

She snorted. Made a rolling _try again_ gesture with her finger.

“The truth, Peter,” she commanded with a grin, diving back into her ice cream. Boy, he couldn’t watch her eat that. It was pure torture. Peter shifted in his seat.

“That _is_ the truth,” he insisted lightly. MJ glared. He folded. “Ok, it’s just that I’m… kinda waiting for you to grill me. You have every right,” he continued at a rushed pace, holding up his hands to her (though one was gripping a waffle cone), “the waiting is just killing me.”

“I’ve tried that,” she reminded him. “Grilling you.” A big mouthful of ice cream, somewhere between a bite and a suck. (Peter was going to have a heart attack right here at this table, in front of a fakey vintage reproduction sign of a beaming ice cream sandwich.) “Didn’t work,” she garbled out. Swallowed. “And I’m guessing you’re still not going to come right out and tell me.”

Glancing down in guilt, Peter shook his head. More gelato was a solace.

“New plan,” MJ declared. Her tone was surprisingly optimistic and Peter looked up at her with hoisted eyebrows.

“What’s that?”

She pointed past him.

“Grab me that pen by the comment box.”

Peter smiled to himself as he put his back to her and reached for it. Normally he was the one asking people for pens. He wiped the private amusement off his face before turning to her with her request. Immediately, MJ stared tearing napkins out of the old metal dispenser on their table.

“That’s wasteful,” he noted.

“I’m going to recycle them,” she said gruffly, in a way that said he was interrupting the concentrated state she was slipping into. “One sec.”

As Peter sat, idly consuming citrusy gelato, MJ bent forward and set her ice cream to the side (seriously, who orders a flat-bottomed sugar cone?). Elbows sprawled on the table, she attacked the napkins with her gifted pen. She was drawing―sketching really, he figured, because it was rough and fast ( _god, Peter_ , he told himself, _don’t gawk at her and think ‘rough and fast’_ ). By the time he’d scooted his chair closer, wincing at the scrape of the metal legs across the floor, and twisted his head to see, MJ straightened up, apparently finished.

“Alright,” she said, eyes locking with his. “Word association.”

Peter gave her a confused look and she pushed the first napkin towards him. A suit of sharp rectangles. A face plate with narrow eyes. Lines unmistakably meant to indicate motion shooting from both hands and feet.

“Iron Man,” he said.

She slapped the next one down.

“New York,” Peter replied. “The skyline. Tall buildings.”

 _Smack_. This time, MJ’s hand uncovered…

“The… Washington Monument.” Something inside Peter’s chest felt tight. He knew, he just _knew_ , what MJ’s next sketch was going to show him. Maybe she wasn’t even aware she was doing it, but Peter’s heightened senses easily detected the more tentative way MJ slid this one over.

It was a picture of a mask, Spider-Man’s mask, copied in incredible symmetry for a freehand sketch. For a second, he actually couldn’t breathe. He knew MJ was staring right through him. Peter forced a laugh and took a bite of gelato that made his teeth ache.

“Come on,” he tried to joke, “everyone knows who that is.”

The tense, silent seconds punished him, but as soon as Peter met MJ’s eye, she relaxed.

“Not bad though, right?” She spun the drawing back towards herself, appraising.

“Honestly,” Peter told her with a de-stressing exhale through his nose, “you’re so, so good.”

MJ glanced away from him quickly, with a nearly-hidden smile.

“You wanna go?” she offered. Peter nodded. Yeah, he should really make sure she got home for dinner now that he’d officially (accidentally, horrifyingly) met her mother. It was like a whole new sense of responsibility. A whole new sense of expectation. A whole new sense of―

MJ rotated abruptly in her chair and her elbow swiped her ice cream cone straight off the table. Peter ducked and caught it. Of course he did. He tried, seriously, not to do things so perfectly, but she’d startled him and he wanted to help. Handing it to her, his lips parting, Peter willed himself to joke his way out of this.

“Wow,” MJ said as she examined the delicate sugar cone, in a voice that balanced on a knife’s edge between casually impressed and life-alteringly thunderstruck, “not even a crack.”

“Will you go to the dance with me on Saturday?” Peter blurted reactively.

“Sure,” she said, glancing from the ice cream to Peter. There was something going on behind her eyes that he couldn’t understand. “I already bought a dress. Last weekend with Cindy. I was going to ask you if you didn’t ask me.”

MJ held his hand tightly on the way out, but he still felt hers trembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes. Another week of anticipation. I promise you, where the frustration ends, the fun begins. And it ain't long now...
> 
> (Guess what? I'm still on Tumblr! Find me as forasecondtherewedwon!)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could express one wish for this story beyond the incredible response it's already received, it would be for a few more comments. I'm not looking for anything groundbreakingly transcendental here, guys, I'm just happy when somebody says they liked it haha We can get the hang of this; I write, you comment, I write some more. It's easy!
> 
> I'm particularly fond of this chapter for many reasons, so be gentle. Also, I'd love to know any highlights for you.

XVII

Peter wanted some part of his life to fall under the category of things he could call in sick for. He wanted to lie. To sit around, perfectly healthy, and watch retro cartoons like _The Jetsons_ , or marathon _The Lord of the Rings_ and cry during _The Two Towers_ when Samwise gives his speech about what they’re fighting for. To have May haphazardly make him chicken soup and slop it over the side of the bowl when she set it down, mildly scalding him through his pajamas.

But he couldn’t skip school right now because there was no other time for him to see MJ, and he couldn’t skip the superhero gig because who does that? The only thing that stopped Captain Rogers from being a superhero was decades-long frozenness, and even then! Barely slowed him down! Right back on the job when he woke up! Or thawed, or whatever.

Mr. Stark wanted him to do more than check along train routes; popping in at sketchy, empty buildings was on the itinerary now too. Well, the popping in part wasn’t, because Tony was still on kind of a protective kick where Peter was concerned, but general snooping was. He’d started last night, Wednesday, and hadn’t turned up anything that made him want to sound the villain alarm. Regardless, Mr. Stark was actually calling for frequent reports, shaving down Peter’s MJ time like an over-sharpened pencil. After school and lunch period weren’t cutting it, which was why Peter was on his second day of frequent bathroom breaks (how else was he supposed to take a call during class?) and all his teachers were giving him weird, sorta sad looks that told him they probably thought he had some kind of bladder problem. At any moment, he just knew Flash was going to start calling him ‘Pee-Pee Parker,’ or just ‘Pee-Pee,’ or something worse that Peter hadn’t had a chance to consider yet because he was so busy being the only Avenger trying to squeeze saving the world (he didn’t really believe that was the case, but Ned had put it into his head) in between math and Spanish!

“Am I ever going to get the specs for this mission?” he burst out, swinging on an open stall door from the hand he had clamped around its top edge. He’d cut Mr. Stark off and his mentor gave him a long, reprimanding pause for it.

“What do you mean?” Tony asked stiffly.

“Some specifications. Specifics,” Peter urged, letting go and dropping to the ground before he could dent the door (or tear it off its hinges) by accident.

“I give you specifics. I gave you specifics last night. ‘Member the directions I sent you to creepy warehouse number three?”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“The ones that said I needed to continue _straight across the Hudson_?”

“I’m going to sue Google Maps over that,” Tony flippantly avowed. “Security footage from somewhere along the route will probably turn up, so you’ll need to wear your Spidey suit if it goes to court, for consistency. You know, that cute thing you do where you protect your identity. How’s it going with Michelle, by the way? What’s the status on _that_ conversation?”

Peter swiveled his phone away from his face, then pressed his nose and mouth to his inner elbow like he was going to sneeze and screamed into the crook. It was the best muffling option he had available to him, unless he wanted to stuff an entire roll of toilet paper into his mouth. (He didn’t.)

“Just tell me what’s going on,” he demanded at a hiss. He heard footsteps approaching the bathroom and worried someone had heard his desperate shriek, but they continued down the hall.

“Thanos is going on.” Peter’s heart seemed to fall out with a plop. He got a very un-superhuman tingle inside his mouth, like he did when he was about to throw up. “Well, not Thanos,” Tony corrected, letting Peter breathe, “but Thanos-related.”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“He’s still gone, but he has supporters.”

Peter’s forehead crumpled in confusion. He looked at his own face in the mirror above the sink and didn’t really see it.

“I thought we wiped out all―”

“ _Human_ supporters,” Mr. Stark clarified. “People who think Thanos’s plan to massacre half the universe was actually pretty rad.”

“How…?” Peter gasped. “How… _how_?”

“Oh, it’s your usual motley crew of racists, megalomaniacs, and religious extremists, all of whom are narcissistic enough to believe―”

“They wouldn’t have been in the half that was killed,” Peter finished. Crap, he’d cracked the edge off the corner of the square sink. He set the broken piece under the soap dispenser.

“It took a while for these guys to pick up steam. It wasn’t a concern for us while they were glaring at the bosses they’d have liked to be relieved of and writing ‘I heart Thanos’ in their diaries, but bless their little genocidal hearts, they’ve managed to get organized and everything’s pointing to aggressive action in New York.”

Peter inhaled deeply.

“When?”

“Soon. There’s a march coming up. A sort of celebration of the fact that humankind survived Thanos. Exactly the type of thing that would rub these guys the wrong way.”

“When?” Peter asked again, even as his head hung down and he remembered the snippet on the local news, the blurb on the radio, the event he’d been invited to join (along with hundreds of thousands of others) on Facebook.

“It’s this Saturday, beginning at the southwest edge of the Park, by Columbus Circle. Hopefully it doesn’t take that long to flush these bastards out, but worst case scenario, we’re all rescheduling our weekends. You got plans?”

Peter couldn’t find the words, so he said nothing.

* * *

But he was going to have to find the words because it was time to choose. The thought kept Peter distracted all day and tossing and turning all night. He had told MJ weeks ago that he’d pick her over Tony Stark, but he couldn’t pick her over _Iron Man_ ―Iron Man and the Avengers, and the city of New York, and the good, innocent people who might be hurt if Spider-Man and the others didn’t intervene. Where was the choice in that? It was starting to feel very possible that he’d never actually make it to a high school dance.

God, but this would _kill_ her. MJ―so incomprehensible and so, so sarcastic―had been slowly letting him in, had let him _undress_ her in his _bed_. He owed her everything, seriously. The truth, undoubtedly. It was all tied up together, Peter recognized in a 3:36am epiphany, like everything was hung, immobilized, in one of his webs. Who he was. Who he could be with her. Sex. Spider-Man. Honesty. Responsibility. Even in his late-night/early-morning fog, Peter’s grip didn’t fail him. This wasn’t the superhuman kind that let him scale walls and walk on the ceiling; it was human, and what he grasped was that he wanted to be closer to MJ. The closest. He just couldn’t do that until she knew who he was. And not because she tricked it out of him with a napkin doodle while he had brain freeze.

Except―crap, crap, _crap_ ―the dance. The one he wouldn’t be going to because this new bunch of bad guys didn’t care that Peter had a date. Turned out that the parenting book May had hidden under the towels in the linen closet was right: the teenage years were shaping up to be rough.

By the time the Friday sun (somehow kinder than, say, a Monday sun) came pouring over the city like the burnt coffee concurrently being served in hundreds if not thousands of dives within that same metropolis, Peter had managed to fall asleep. He was feeling sub-fantastic when he heaved himself out of bed not enough hours later. A lot of that was about knowing he’d have to cancel on his girlfriend. The rest of it, which was about sleep, he knew would be resolved by an early night at the compound, where he’d be heading directly after school. May already knew and she hovered and sighed until Peter left. She had a right to be afraid for him, so he let her hug him approximately 40 times while he smelled her mom-ish smell and said, “Nothing bad will happen.”

He’d made Mr. Stark promise to lay off the calls today, since they’d be meeting later in the day anyhow. Going to eat lunch in the cafeteria was bizarre, and Peter felt even more unsettled by the fact that his normal routine was suddenly so strange to him. Ned tried to talk to him like normal from across the table, since he hadn’t gotten up the nerve to either sit with Cindy or invite her to join them yet, but Peter was kind of a useless friend at the moment―quiet and preoccupied.

“It’s… _work_ … right?” Ned checked, dropping both his voice and the pretense of pre-dance chatter.

“Yeah.” Peter zipped and unzipped his hoodie. _Vriiip_ , _vriip_. _Vriip_ , _vriip_. He took a deep breath to unburden himself a little to his best friend, then caught sight of MJ walking in from the hallway. He didn’t know what she’d been doing, but she was late coming for lunch. Peter’s gaze swivelled back to Ned. “I’ll fill you in later, ok?”

“I know you will,” Ned assured him with a subdued grin, “because I’ll keep bugging you until you do.”

Peter rose in a half-daze and intercepted MJ, who frowned deeply at him as he steered her back out of the cafeteria.

“You’re here,” she said. It sounded like an accusation.

“I am.”

There was a hideous sage-green couch outside the guidance department and that was where they crashed. Peter perched right on the edge.

“You’re not staying, are you?” They touched hands, but neither grabbed on for a firmer hold.

“I have someplace I’m supposed to be right after school.”

MJ glanced up at the ceiling like she was replaying what he’d just said and listening for a second meaning.

“Which I’m interpreting as someplace that isn’t your apartment. And the dance tomorrow night?” She eyed him.

He shook his head. She stared steadily back.

Peter sighed and looked down at his knees before twisting towards his girlfriend again. “MJ,” he said earnestly, “I really want to tell you― _need_ to tell you…”

Her fingers closed around his and he found that he didn’t have any words to say. MJ took his hand and guided the palm to her cheek. Her skin was warm. Peter watched her coming, saw her body shift and lean, was aware of the way her hand loosened from his and stroked up the outside of his thigh, yet the kiss she gave him was still a surprise. Gradual, delicate. He felt her breath against his lips until she pressed her mouth securely to his. Maybe on its own, Peter’s hand dipped to her jaw, then slid around to the back of her neck, grabbing on and keeping her near. She rocked forward and back with him, the kiss in the middle (of his entire universe), and he never wanted to let her go. No matter what Peter had tried to dampen his abilities just to exist in his daily life―music, sunglasses, goggles, hood pulled up and over until it skimmed his eyebrows―nothing had ever focused his senses or his mind like the intimacy MJ was giving him now. The two of them, floating, and the sigh she released between kisses: his gravity.

The end of lunch bell rang abruptly. _No!_ He hadn’t told her!

“Sorry, Peter,” she whispered, drawing back. Her hands left him, snatching up her backpack. “It’s just that, once I know for sure… once you confirm it…”

Other students seemed to stampede around the corners, shouting and taking up all the space in their previously silent hallway. Everybody had somewhere they needed to be.

“Confir―”

“Get going, Parker,” MJ said, giving him a gentle shove. He stood and continued looking at her until she broke down and smiled at him, rolling her eyes to signal her indulgence.

Warily, he turned away, though it was already driving him up the wall (metaphorically) trying to figure out if she thought he was going to confirm what she thought she knew, which may or may not be the thing that―

“Hey, spider!”

Peter whipped around, navigating the crowd as his heartrate propelled him right back to MJ. Who was looking at him like she knew. But they were out of time to discuss it! They looked at each other for immortal seconds. Then, MJ tapped her finger against the wall, next to a spiky black scrawl that had probably been left by a bored kid waiting to visit their counsellor. A couple people reflexively turned to see what she was pointing at, but didn’t stop walking.

“Thought it was a spider. Never mind,” MJ said, like she wasn’t speaking to anybody in particular. Except she held Peter’s eye and tossed a conspiratorial smirk between the flailing arms and sagging backpacks of the shuffling horde. “My mistake.”

* * *

“Dr. Banner, can I talk to you about something?”

Peter was crouched on the arm of a sleek sofa. It was awesome having someplace he could act normal (the post-spider bite version of normal). In theory, he could be totally himself at home too―now that May knew he wasn’t purposely making his steps soundless to freak her out, and that the sticky stuff on his bedsheets was the result of covert testing of his custom chemical compound and not… well―but he preferred to act as 100% Certified Human as possible around his aunt. Peter was sure that just knowing was plenty for her to cope with.

“Sure, Peter,” the doctor said immediately. He quit coasting around the back of the couch and approached in a characteristically humble posture, hands in his pants pockets. “Is it too loud in here, or…?”

Peter shook his head. The rowdy cheering and heckling from the other side of the room (how many times did those guys have to try to pick up Mjolnir?) actually made it easier to talk. He sunk down onto the couch and Dr. Banner made his way around to take a chair across from him. The doctor looked kinda nervous. _Oh no_ , Peter thought. _He probably thinks I’m scared about the mission_. While Banner would’ve been a great guy to have that conversation with (he was SO COOL! And SO SMART!), that wasn’t what Peter wanted to talk about _at all_.

“Ok, this is kind of embarrassing,” Peter prefaced, quickly checking to make sure the rest of the team was still distracted, “but I wanna know how you deal with a girl knowing that you’re… the way we are.”

“ _Wooow_ ,” Dr. Banner said softly. “Ok. God. Ok.” He leaned forward. “Are you sure I’m the one you want to be asking?”

“Definitely,” Peter assured him firmly.

“Right. Well, that’s… huh.” He rocked his head to the side, gaze skimming the ceiling. If the answer had been up there, Peter would’ve found it already. “So somebody you know knows you’re Spider-Man?” he checked.

“I’m not positive, but I think so.”

Dr. Banner nodded along with his words, taking them in thoughtful stride.

“Well, you have to understand that it’s pretty different for me and Nat, since she already knew about the Other Guy before we got together. Which was great, because it’s not an easy thing to explain.”

“Sure,” Peter agreed.

“In either case though,” he went on, holding his palms up like scales, “the superhuman part doesn’t really matter that much if the girl really knows you, you know? Does that sound too dorky?”

“No,” Peter insisted. “This is exactly why I didn’t ask Mr. Stark.”

“HA,” Dr. Banner burst out. “Yeah, fair enough. So, I guess my answer is that you just deal with it like anything else. You try to be patient and sympathetic, and most of the time you just feel lucky as hell. The worst is when you’re apart because you have to risk your life doing what we do. That’s gonna be hard for her.”

He glanced away and Peter could tell without turning his head that Banner was looking at Ms. Romanoff. She’d be going tomorrow. Dr. Banner would be staying here. (They’d taken to calling it Bruce’s Vacation, but everybody knew that letting the doctor take a break from the Other Guy was of critical importance.)

“It’s something you should be thankful you’ll never have to understand,” he continued softly. He turned back to Peter and his expression instantly became less serious. “Anyway, that’s the responsible answer. The truth is that I have _no idea_ how I got Nat to be interested in me.”

Peter laughed and Dr. Banner’s quieter chuckle rolled along beneath it.

“If you’ve found it, Peter, hang on.” He patted Peter’s shoulder as he stood. “I know you’re good at that.”

The meaning of ‘it’ was clear and, great, _another_ thing for Peter to consider. Before his brain could try investigating a million ways to panic at once, his phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket.

“MJ?” Peter asked, elated and terrified.

Her voice didn’t come right away, but when the words did reach his ear they were forceful and surging, a runner off a mark.

“You’re Spider-Man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :O


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU GUYS! Last chapter, I expressed my hope for more comments, and you certainly delivered! It's been such a thrill, receiving and reviewing your praise and feedback over the past week. I would love nothing more than for this to continue. Thank you VERY much for taking the time!!
> 
> N.B.: There will come a day when I don't add endnotes to a chapter. On that day, you and I will meet each other in a comprehending stare, through which I will transfer to you warning of the subsequent chapter's erotic content. Be ready.

XVIII

“I can’t believe you didn’t just give her a straight answer,” Mr. Stark criticized, plowing into the grill of a cube van full of bad guys. “Oops, we’ve got a runner,” he said as a side note. Peter swung down the block and webbed the stray would-be criminal to the side of the van he’d just fallen out of. He kept going, leaving the rest―visibly groggy with whiplash―for Iron Man to round up.

“As if you’re one to talk about straight answers!” Peter griped back. He got eyes on Ms. Romanoff, who was strolling down a street, talking a small mob of men into lowering their guns without ever drawing her own. He liked to think he had his own friendly kind of charisma, but nobody compared to Black Widow.

“I may like to embellish, but the answer’s always in there. Somewhere.”

“Well, I’m gonna tell her,” Peter promised, exasperated. He spotted a handful of people headed away from the route of the march, a perimeter which the Avengers had been carefully and quietly trying to maintain to prevent panic. Spider-Man dropped down to the civilians. “Hey guys,” he said. Their eyes widened in the light of the setting sun. “The road’s closed up ahead due to a…” At that moment, he heard what sounded like Iron Man blasting a hole in the side of the van. “…crash. Can I help you get somewhere?”

After one star-struck person stuttered out an address and another begged for a selfie (Peter posed in the front, giving the camera a thumbs up), he was able to give them directions that would bypass the conflict _and_ save them about seven minutes walking time. Sometimes, being a hero was in the details.

“Where was I?” he asked, scaling the side of a bank and giving a quick wave to Hawkeye a few buildings over.

“Oh, just lying to me saying you’re going to tell your girlfriend that you’re Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark casually remarked. “These guys are good, Nat, wanna herd your flock over here? Bonus points if you give them that particularly intimidating look that makes all the toughest tough guys pee their pants.”

“My pleasure,” she confirmed. “Glad this isn’t interrupting your chat.”

“Ignore her,” Tony ordered.

“I’m not lying!” Peter protested, picking up where he’d left off. “I just―”

“Put Michelle off temporarily,” he supplied.

“Exactly,” Peter agreed. “Because I wanted to focus on this.”

“Right, and how’s the focusing going?”

“Better when things are quiet,” Peter hinted, trying to be diplomatic as well as hoping his mentor would shut up.

“I second that,” Ms. Romanoff contributed. Peter heard Mr. Barton snicker.

“Come on, kid!” Mr. Stark pushed. “You’re Spider-Man! You could beat these guys blindfolded while whistling the entire _Tapestry_ album backwards and wearing nothing but a sweatband.”

“Tony, that paints a disturbingly specific picture,” Black Widow commented.

“I’ll say,” Hawkeye added dryly. “This is why I never go to his parties.”

“You’re no longer _invited_ to my parties, how ‘bout that?” Tony taunted defensively.

“This is so stupid,” Peter said under his breath, watching the peaceful marchers proceed down the block.

“Hey,” Mr. Stark said brusquely, “Spider-Teen. Tell her.”

“I will!”

“Prove it.”

“Fine! I’ll call her right now!”

Tony’s next words were slow and deliberate: “I double dog dare you.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter retreated to the roof access door, moving out of the dueling lights of the fading sun and streetlamps flickering on.

“I’m turning off communications with you guys for a minute while I call,” he warned. Peter was annoyed by his mentor, but he was still going to stick to safety protocol. That was why Director Fury trusted him even _without_ a good guy contract.

“Barton, watch him to make sure he doesn’t wimp out.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to take one of these arrows and ram it so far up your―”

“Karen? A little privacy?” Peter requested.

“Certainly, Peter.”

The background chatter (which was irritatingly more like foreground chatter with such advanced communications abilities) instantly cut out. He sighed in relief.

“Dial Michelle Jones for me?”

“Of course,” his suit soothingly complied. Peter paced a short line through three rings.

“Peter?”

His heart honest-to-god skipped a beat.

“Hey! Hey…” He clamped his lips shut against the wacky urge to address her as ‘sweetheart.’ “Are you still at the dance?”

“Nah. I put in an hour, mainly dancing with Betty, until it became too much to avoid the sight of Flash trying to do the running man and Cindy making out with Ned. Man, I thought I saw some gross shit with her in physics lab…”

Peter laughed, though something in him ached with emotion rawer than a ‘90s ballad. He had to see MJ.

“Well, good for Ned. I bet he wouldn’t notice right now if somebody set him on fire.”

“You want me to go back?” MJ offered. “I’d do it if only for the pleasure of spraying them both with a fire extinguisher.”

“You know, I really don’t think I’d be able to talk my way out of it when you pinned it on me, so better not.”

“I promise I wouldn’t. I’d protect you.”

Her lighthearted tone faded into the calm, thick silence of the early evening.

“So, that’s why you left, huh?” Peter summed up.

“Also, it kind of sucked without you,” she murmured. God, he wanted to pull her close.

“What was that?”

“Screw off, I’m not repeating that,” MJ informed him. Peter grinned. “Are you still busy doing whatever lame thing you had to do today?”

“Ummm…” He looked around. He listened with his eyes closed. No shouting, no gunfire, not even the sound of a scuffle. “I’m gonna call you right back!”

“Peter―!”

“Karen, let me hear the other guys again?”

“You have them, Peter,” the suit lady told him.

“Uh, Mr. Stark…” he started.

“Get outta here, kid! It’s all taken care of.”

“Are you sure? Because I―”

“We’ve got this handled. Trust me, five minutes and we’re en route to shawarma. The only thing you’re gonna miss is the victory dance.”

“I really could―” Peter tried to protest.

“Give it up, kid. Barton owes me the overtime.”

“Have I mentioned lately what a thrill it is when you imply that I’m your employee?” Hawkeye droned sarcastically.

“Seriously,” Tony cut in. “If you don’t go right now, I’m getting you kicked out of the Avengers.”

“Everyone likes him better than you,” Ms. Romanoff commented wryly.

“’K,” Peter blurted before his mentor could get a bickering comeback in. “Awesome work, everybody! Good bad guy roundup, Mr. Stark! Ms. Romanoff, I loved that crazy double backflip you did before sweeping that one guy’s legs right out from under him. Mr. Barton, totally insane how you shot all the tires out on the first van from like three blocks away. It’s, like, stuck in my brain. Bye!”

He had Karen remove him from the common battle feed they had going before Mr. Stark could make any final embarrassing comments about him rushing off to MJ. Honestly, Peter couldn’t take it right now. He couldn’t take it because―as he swung a few blocks before catching a bus (put in an appearance, give the people what they want)―any of those things his mentor might tease him about felt too real, too true, too possible. _MJ_ felt possible.

Oh, shit. MJ.

“Karen, call her back!”

She picked up faster this time as Peter got off the bus a couple blocks from her building.

“You’re at home, right?”

He heard the wet click of MJ’s tongue as, he assumed, she prepared to say something sarcastic. Maybe it was the urgency of his voice that changed her mind.

“Yeah, I came straight here from the school. A couple other people left early and I caught a ride. I wanted to let my mom know so she wouldn’t worry at work.”

Fascinating. June Jones was at the hospital. Not in the apartment. Cool. Good. Fine. She was saving at least one life tonight.

“Night shift?” Peter checked.

“Mhmm. Won’t be back ‘til 4.”

There was some unspoken agreement to let that piece of information hang there for a minute. Peter glanced upward, still strolling the sideway. Somewhere up there, past all the light pollution, were billions of stars. He’d seen them. Been among them.

“I’m on my way to you. If you’re ready for the truth, be outside on your balcony.”

Peter heard MJ exhale.

“Ok.”

* * *

Scaling a wall felt almost human―with a ladder, anybody could do it. Crawling across a ceiling? Again, not so bad. Kinda reminded him of monkey bars. Peter exhaled. It was going straight down that always freaked him out; not because it was frightening to put his body vertical in the wrong direction, but because it felt just as natural as standing still. Going straight down reminded him the most of who he really was. All of it.

The sun had set and he waited in the dark. The night went on and on and on in 30 seconds.

Slowly allowing himself to take in air again, sharp through his nose, Peter slipped over the edge of the apartment building’s roof and began to climb down. The suit left him alert, smoothing his sense of the brick’s texture under his fingertips, but definitely letting him feel it. That was good. He needed something constant and predictable, since he was about to take his whole life and put it through a blender, essentially.

This would be the first time he told someone on purpose, and he was aware with every inch. It wouldn’t be like Mr. Stark showing up, behaving as though he already knew more about the powers than Peter did, and recruiting him to travel transatlantic on a school night. It wouldn’t be like Ned or May having the crap scared out of them after he’d accidentally revealed his secret identity, in full costume, in his bedroom. Peter didn’t know what this would be like. It was better not thinking. _Yeah, genius_ , he thought. _Great plan._

Lots of lights glowed outward, reaching from kitchens and bathrooms and living rooms for the dull, unilluminated space between buildings, but Peter only saw one. That light― _his_ light―shone through a sliding glass door and lit up the back of a girl in a silver dress. She was leaning with her elbows on the railing of the balcony and as she stood, Peter isolated the soft sound of a song, crackling through the speakers of the beat-up radio near the girl’s feet.

He moved from the wall to the underside of the balcony directly above hers, shooting a sturdy rope of web to anchor him as he descended to her.

“Wow,” Peter breathed, “you look _beautiful_.”

MJ straightened up _really_ fast, then slowly stepped back and looked up at him hovering just above her. With her face tilted back, he could’ve swung forward on very little momentum and made their noses touch. Peter could see himself in her wide brown eyes. He was Spider-Man, coming to her covered, and if she wanted, she could pretend to be surprised. Act like she didn’t know him―except by reputation and internet fame―then go back inside and have a great story to tell at school on Monday about how she’d had her own personal encounter with Spider-Man, who, by complete coincidence, had been climbing down her building. That stuff happened. Once in a lifetime.

Her arms lifted, carrying her hands up to the sides of his face and Peter, suddenly anxious, wondered if maybe she wasn’t that sure. Still, he let himself sink lower until their faces were level, lessening her reach. MJ’s fingers were caressing down his face (up for her) and sweeping along his neck, finding the seam between mask and suit. Maybe she wasn’t that sure and she wanted to see his face the way some people always wanted to see the real faces of the Avengers. Maybe she just wanted to know. Maybe she was bracing for disappointment instead of delight. Maybe she didn’t trust him to be under the mask.

But when she found the thin edge, MJ peeled the mask back with care and without hesitation, settling the scrunched fabric across his cheeks and halfway up (down?) his nose. Peter didn’t get it, he didn’t―

MJ held his face, hands spanning the division between skin and mask, and stretched the short distance to kiss him. She was cool from evening air and he warmed her lips for her, meeting her mouth eagerly with every pull because this clearly wasn’t an experiment for her. It wasn’t confusion. It wasn’t a question. It was an answer. Her tongue tasted like peppermint toothpaste and he’d never felt it like this before, stroking his. They worked each other’s mouths open more and more, taking the kiss deeper until Peter groaned. If she didn’t know it was him before, he really hoped she did now.

Backing off, MJ gave him repeated closed-mouth kisses. Peter’s heartrate started to chill out. Then, she surged forward and kissed him fiercely again.

“MJ,” he gasped as their lips separated.

Rose petals rained from his wrists where his hands grasped the webby rope. The petals drifted down, falling all around his girlfriend, landing in her hair. MJ looked up, down, around her feet in confusion.

“That part I didn’t plan,” Peter hurriedly assured her.

“Right, because without it, the rest of this―” She gestured to his outfit, then upward towards the way he was suspended. “―is really subtle.”

He dropped down, flipping in the air to land on his feet. On the balcony, Peter shifted nervously, swinging his arms and forgetting his mask was half up, half down. MJ being right there in front of him gave him enough to think about. He wasn’t sure what to say.

“Peter,” she said in a tone of gentle correction and reached for his face. Once again, he didn’t know what to expect, but MJ pulled his mask the rest of the way up and off. “There,” she said. “Now I can see all of you.”

When she pointedly glanced at both his revealed face and his Spider-Man suit, Peter understood what she meant. And then he hugged her―pulled her tight into his arms and held her there, loving her for more than it felt possible to explain. The song changed and Peter took the mask from MJ, tossing it next to the radio.

 _Wake up kids, we’ve got the dreamers’ disease_ …

He was still holding her and their eyes met as he turned his head.

 _So polite, you’re busy still saying please_ …

God, she really was beautiful. Peter’s arms loosened around her, one hand lightly brushing her lower back, the other taking hers.

_First we run, and then we laugh ‘til we cry…_

She snorted.

 _But when the night is falling_ …

“What are you doing?”

“I was supposed to dance with you tonight, right? It’s still tonight and I still want to dance with you.”

 _Hold tight_ …

MJ looked away, smiling, then lifted her chin to meet him with the expression full force.

 _One dance left, this world is gonna pull through_ …

Heart slamming, he gathered her in close again, their cheeks side by side. He didn’t try to steer her anywhere, just swayed.

 _Can’t forget, we only get what we give_ …

“Can we talk about something?” she asked. Peter laughed softly near her ear.

“I think we can talk about _anything_ now.”

 _We’re flat broke, but hey we do it in style_ …

“Good,” MJ told him (his hand squeezed her back affectionately, then smoothed her dress), “because I want to talk about the day you made me orgasm.”

Peter choked on nothing.

“What about that day?” he forced roughly out of his throat.

“The orgasm part.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s why you would say that specifically.”

“Peter, I can feel you panicking. I’m not going to tell you that you sucked or that I regret it.”

“Well,” he argued defensively, “when you mention it like that, you have to know it’s gonna make me wor―”

“I want more,” MJ interrupted. “If you do.”

Peter turned his head, eyebrows high, and she drew hers back to look him in the eye.

“You want more than what we did? More than that?” he checked. (He hoped. He prayed to Thor.)

 _You’re in harm’s way, I’m right behind_ …

 _Now say you’re mine_ …

MJ touched one fingertip to the underside of Peter’s chin and made him turn his head to the side. He could hear her racing heart as she leaned in.

“I want everything,” she whispered in his ear.

She folded herself back into him. He clung to her after that.

When the song ended, MJ crouched to flick the radio off and pick up Peter’s mask. She jerked her head at the door as she slid it open for him. The glass glided and MJ’s dress shifted with her body and the warm living room glow made her shine in his superhuman sight.

Peter looked back up to her eyes and she grinned.

“After you, Spider-Man.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check it out! It's a long one!
> 
> THE CHAPTER, YOU GUYS. Sickos.

XIX

The walls of MJ’s room were a fathomless dark purple and they calmed Peter’s senses. The rest of the room was kind of a mess, actually a series of messes, each (more or less) confined to its designated area―the way Peter arranged food on his plate at Thanksgiving. A jumble of shoes along one wall. Paperbacks haphazardly stuffed onto a shelf. It all made him smile.

Peter knew MJ was staring at him from her doorway, back from changing in the washroom.

“What are these?” he asked, running a finger along the spines of tall slim books that hadn’t been shelved with the others. Some were leather, or heavy paper, or cardboard. Drawing pads maybe?

“Uh, just extra supplies,” she said quickly, stepping into the room and clasping her hand to the one he’d had exploring the books. “Nothing I’m ready to show you.”

“Oh, ok.”

MJ released his hand as she went to her closet and pressed the hanger holding her silver dress onto the short, crowded rail.

“If I don’t do it now,” she huffed, forcing it in, “I’ll forget about it and my mom’ll be mad if she sees my new dress lying around.”

“I really liked it,” Peter said. MJ turned, finished. “I liked _you_ in it.”

Her expression changed from wary to pleased, he thought.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“And I like you not in it,” he babbled on. She was laughing, but holding it in, lips clamped shut. Peter rolled his eyes, realizing what he’d implied. “Go ahead and laugh.”

MJ shook her head and managed not to laugh when she spoke.

“I was trying to give you time for a ‘that’s not what I meant!’”

Peter considered this, scuffing his fingers through his hair and looking down towards his feet.

“Maybe what you thought was exactly what I meant.”

“Maybe that’s what I was hoping for,” she countered. He glanced up quickly, reading the bold look in her eyes. “Maybe I didn’t just go to the bathroom to change.”

MJ pulled something from the pocket of her sweatpants and offered it to him, slapping an accordion of condoms into his raised palm. Right, her mom was a doctor. Peter’s rational mind said it seemed like good practice to keep these in the apartment, so that any potential teenage impulsiveness would at least be _safe_ teenage impulsiveness. The rest of his mind said CONDOMS, and decided the blood fueling the rational part would be more useful elsewhere. This was tangible assurance that he’d be loosing gooey jets from someplace other than his web-shooters tonight.

“Maybe you should’ve asked if I wanted to get changed too,” Peter suggested. Goldilocks Zone of sexual confidence: dead ahead. Landmark: the stiffening length trapped against him. MJ eyed the chest of his Spidey suit. He reached for her hip and stepped close, searching her eyes searching his. “I would’ve told you that I don’t wear another set of clothes under this,” he confessed, not really noticing how his voice had lowered and softened. “There isn’t really room.”

He didn’t know how she did it, but MJ appeared somehow both nervous and sure. Or was that just what longing looked like? She pressed her body completely to his.

“What else isn’t there room for in that suit?”

Peter kissed her hard then, setting off an explosive epicenter that would allow for no survivors, that neither of them could walk away from. The condoms were temporarily abandoned to the floor. MJ breathed in a shudder as his lips skated wildly down her chin to her neck. His thumbs dug into her hips, massaging inward until she started yanking the t-shirt out from beneath them, trying to get it off. They stumbled in place, adrift. Peter gasped when his fingertips felt the heat of her skin through his suit. In the middle of scraping his teeth down her throat, he was forced to back off by MJ pulling her shirt over her head.

“You’re working fast,” he commented with a smile between kisses when she was against him again.

“I have more items to take off than you do, Onesie-Man.”

“Hey! It’s not a onesie! The suit is designed to be aerodynamic and not get in the way when I’m―”

“Climbing the Washington Monument?”

Peter chuckled into the underside of her jaw.

“Oh, you remember that, do you?”

“What I remember,” MJ informed him, “is trying to calculate how many waterspouts high that was. Isn’t that a common unit of measurement for spiders? Waterspouts? Or has my knowledge of nursery rhymes failed me?”

He would’ve retaliated if she hadn’t immediately begun to untie her sweatpants, wedging her hands between their hips, knuckles skimming his still-confined bulge and making him groan.

“Lucky the criminals don’t use this approach,” she said. “You wouldn’t stand a chance.”

Peter sighed, reverently touching her waist, her arms, her stomach before stepping back while MJ kicked out of her pants.

“I wasn’t expecting to have to defend myself,” he joked. “I was actually trying _not_ to let my senses overwhelm me.” And then he looked at MJ, standing there in her underwear. “Like they are right now.”

She seemed really curious about that, crossing her arms thoughtfully.

“So your senses make stimuli more intense for you than for a normal person? Non-super-person, I mean,” she backtracked apologetically.

“I’m used to dealing with it day-to-day, but yeah, sometimes.” He paused. “Can we go over the technical details _later_?”

“Yeah,” MJ said with a shake of her head. She glanced down his body and Peter blushed. “Yeah, later. Let me get the light.”

Distracted (by him? Kinda flattering), MJ tripped over her discarded sweats and retreated to her bedroom’s entrance, swatting the light switch next to the door; she closed that while she was at it. Peter stared at her back, her shoulders lifting as she breathed through the giddy adrenaline kick she seemed to have just experienced. Before he could overthink anything, he walked up behind her and ran his palms downward from her shoulders, twisting their path at MJ’s waist to follow the lower line her ribcage cut around to her sides. She turned her head, just a little, hand still over the light switch, though the room was now dim (for her).

“How does it feel for you?” she asked quietly. He didn’t know what she meant for a minute, until she kept talking. “Now that I know?”

How did it feel? All the bad anticipation was gone. The anxiety, the fear of disappointing her, the feeling like a liar, the worry that he’d never be what she deserved, the energy wasted on excuses she wasn’t going to believe anyway, the compartmentalizing, the disappearing, the hiding, the big, huge, massive, defining secret! All gone!

“Good,” Peter said, inching his fingers higher. “Really, really good.” He unhooked her bra.

MJ’s palm went _bump_ , _bump_ , _bump_ down the wall, skidding to hang by her side as Peter eased her straps gently over the curve of her shoulders.

“Wait,” she said. He halted immediately, letting her catch the falling bra against her chest. “I want to feel your hands on me. Without the suit.”

Peter swallowed thickly. She was feeding him prime fantasy dialogue here, she had to know that. Bright girl like MJ. Perfect, beautiful genius. With all that skin and that wavy hair swooshing over her shoulder… as she turned her head to give him a much more typically MJ expression of mildly underwhelmed assessment.

“How do you get out of that thing anyway?”

“You can’t watch,” he tried, feeling a little thrill from egging her on. “It’s a secret.”

She just stared at him harder, eyes narrowing.

“Bullshit.”

Peter grinned and slapped his chest to slacken the suit, which fluttered to the floor. MJ shrugged.

“Not that impressive when you see it.”

Ok, he was standing there― _hard_ ―in his boxers. Was she _trying_ to destroy his pride? Seriously.

“Do you mind? I was in the middle of something here.”

Peter slid his warm, bare hands lightly up her upper arms, stepping out of his suit and shuffling in closer. MJ must have showered right before the dance, because the scent of her hair was _amazing_. She let her arms drop and the bra hit the floor. _Oh man_ , _oh man_ , _oh man_. Instinctually, Peter leaned in and wrapped his arms around her waist, pressing her back flush to his chest. He sighed into her hair. Any second, he worried that his girlfriend would tell him to hurry up or ask in an adult-speaking-to-children voice if he knew that sex was more than hugging (not to be mean, just to be MJ), but she never did. Actually, she sighed too, head swinging back onto his shoulder.

Slowly, gently, so that she had lots of warning or time to say she was over it (maybe Peter was still a teeny bit insecure), he stroked upward, mounting the curve of her breasts. MJ exhaled heavily. He kissed her cheek and massaged her in his dexterous grip, the rest of the world sort of fuzzy at the edges like an old photograph. Her nipples, under the center of his palms, reminded Peter of the way a brick wall’s irregularities felt as he scaled it. Well, he wanted to climb up on MJ too, he just maybe wouldn’t say it exactly that way out loud.

“You wanna go to your bed?” Peter asked quietly, shrinking his grip to fingertips only―narrowing, narrowing, narrowing that grip until he had her nipples pinched securely between index finger and thumb. And then he tugged. Just a little. MJ groaned and arched her back until her ass pushed against his crotch. Holy shit. Ok then. Peter kept his hands moving over her breasts. How was her skin so _soft_?

“Since it’s _my_ bed,” she pointed out, scratching her nails lightly along his forearms, “shouldn’t I be the one inviting you?”

“Go ahead,” he offered. After having the suit on for so long, the _scritch_ of her fingernails across his skin felt, like, _extremely_ good. Peter closed his eyes, really, _really_ trying not to grind against her.

“Come on, Peter.”

She laid her hands over his and lowered them, turning and crossing the room with her arms stretched back slightly to keep Peter’s fingers linked in hers. He eyed the bra by the wall. The shed skin of his suit. The soft pile that was MJ’s sweatpants. The fold of condoms―that he gave a little kick to send them within grabbing range of the bed. Maybe to somebody who hadn’t been secretly (or not so secretly―thanks, _Ned_ ) staring at her for months, the softness of the way MJ walked in front of him (just a handful of steps, but Peter’s gaze studied her, insatiably, like moving art) would look like another show of her inexhaustible supply of apathy. But it wasn’t. Did it take superhuman eyesight to judge the difference between her _in_ difference and this… tempting and unhurried litheness? Nah. It just took Peter.

MJ unclasped their fingers to let him sit on the bed where the covers had been folded back, immediately sitting beside him and draping her long legs over his lap; Peter wedged his hands into the soft, warm place behind her knees.

“I thought you might seem like two different people, once I knew,” she confided, running cupped hands along his jaw. “But you don’t.”

Peter’s face reddened and he glanced away.

“Because it’s obvious that your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man was always a dork on the inside?”

She leaned her forehead against his temple and shook her head.

“The opposite. That _you_ were always _him_ on the inside.”

Peter looked at her, surprised, and MJ’s eyebrow jumped up.

“And on the outside.” Her gaze poured down his torso. “Apparently. You know,” she added thoughtfully as Peter chuckled, self-conscious, “this―” (still staring at his abs) “―just makes me even more pissed off that you didn’t go swimming with the rest of us the night before the DC decath―”

It was either kiss her then or die of embarrassment. Tough choice. He met her speaking mouth with his, also open and ready to communicate how badly he wanted her. Gradually, Peter used the steady pressure of the kiss to encourage MJ to lie back, scooping her legs to the side as he half climbed over her. He dug his shoulder into the mattress and scooted his lower body right up to hers, one leg thrown suggestively over hers, groin against her hip. She held him there, grip totally certain and totally enflaming. Peter’s thumb stroked rhythmically up and down the center of her body, navel to ribs, navel to ribs. Reaching to kiss from her panting mouth to her far shoulder, he shifted his weight on her body. MJ’s thighs snapped shut around his singular one like a trap; he’d pressed up between her legs accidentally (yeah right!).

“Peter,” she mumbled.

“Yeah?” he spoke into her skin, feeling the rounded ridge of her collarbone with his lips.

“There’s no trick to taking _these_ off, right?” Her fingers rushed like rain down his stomach, making his abdominals jump. And they plucked at the elastic waist of his boxers, making his dick jump. Wow, could you get sun stroke lying down in a dark room… at night? ‘Cause Peter thought he was detecting symptoms. He cleared his throat.

“See for yourself.” He angled his head towards her breast, applying a long lick to her nipple before retreating to give MJ room to―um, reality check, please?―finish undressing him.

“Ok,” she said on an exhale, right before she started rambling. “I almost thought…” Anxious laughter escaped. “… Almost thought these would match your suit. You never think about a superhero’s underwear.” Her hands quavered against his hips.

Peter wanted to calm MJ’s nerves, but when he began laughing right along with her, he actually felt better. It seemed to reassure her too, somehow.

“Can you imagine,” she continued, shoulders shaking with laughter now, “Tony Stark designing―”

“I don’t want to,” Peter insisted hysterically. “Stop!”

MJ jerked her hands away from him.

“No!” he yelped. “Don’t stop _that_!”

She burst into even harder laughter, tucking the top of her head under his chin as she directed her hilarity into his chest. He rolled onto MJ, hauling her into his arms. The surge of energy continued and he kissed her quickly, a darting kiss that seemed to leave Peter’s lips vibrating. Her laughter sighed out. Still wearing a smile (and almost nothing else―sweet _Queens_ , he hadn’t forgotten), she openly read his face; eyes, mouth, forehead, eyes again; all out of order.

“Peter,” she said, and lifted her head off the pillow kinda bunched up beneath it to kiss him. The feel of her. The scent. The _taste_.

MJ’s hands, suddenly steady on the back of his head and neck, focused him. He slipped his thumb under the band of his boxers on one side and shoved down with his hand’s convenient V―made for squaring up imaginary photographs, stabilizing a Frisbee, and, evidently, becoming naked in front of your girlfriend for the first time. He felt her hand finding the fabric at his opposite hip. They did it together.

They weren’t kissing anymore; maybe the weight, heat, or mere existence of Peter’s erection pulsing against MJ’s stomach was distracting. He imagined taking a second to ask her, ‘Hey, is this distracting you?’ like he’d turned on the TV while she was trying to read or something. _No_ , he told himself with conviction. _No. Cut it out_. The last thing he wanted to do was emit an awkward bark of laughter. If it was contagious, it would set MJ off and then he’d be lying there, above and kind of on top of her, the whole package exposed, and even if she wasn’t laughing at that, it would feel like she was and so… so… So. He got himself under control.

“Are you ready to…?” His boxers were hanging out around his knees, but he’d get to that. MJ breathed and her whole body swelled and sunk softly, basically defining heaven for Peter in one respiratory cycle. Not a big deal. Also, her eyes had gone wide. “Oh, shit,” he backtracked. “I just meant ready to maybe…” He fingered her underwear where they circled her hip. “… take these off?”

“Oh,” she said with obvious relief. “Yeah. Natural next step, duh.”

His eyebrows scrunched together. MJ was not a ‘duh’-er. She did not say ‘duh.’

“Are we ok?” Peter asked earnestly, idly combing her hair across her pillow. After all the kissing and the shifting and the possessive _what the hell, Peter, you are literally clinging to her, you can’t be the guy who clings, dumbass, because you’re Spider-Man and you can’t afford for that cling/cling cognitive association to be made_ , their noses were nearly brushing.

“You wouldn’t understand,” she said flatly. Oh no, what?! MJ’s stare was passively demanding. “You’re not about to lay a superhero.”

Peter lifted off of her with a groan, fought his boxers off. He glanced back after a second and she had a smug look on her face.

“If I had a dollar for all the times I’ve successfully fucked with you,” MJ postulated, “I’d be able to bankroll my own Avengers compound and make it just a little bit bigger than Stark’s.”

“It’d take a while.”

She eyed him.

“You know who you’re dating. I can play the long game. Most of the time.”

MJ lifted her hips and Peter was drawn back towards her at the sight of the last of their combined clothing finally (there was no pressure, but fine, he’d been thinking about it―he was maybe less patient than she was) making its exit.

“I will not be remembered as the feminist who didn’t seize her sexual freedom by taking off her own goddamn panties,” she informed him.

“What the hell are you talking about? ‘Be remembered’? Who would possibly know about that?”

“I’m just saying. For the record.”

“What record? You lost me.”

“C’mere.”

She flipped onto her side, facing him, and they approached each other as though upright through water. Fluttering kicks. Arms used as lifelines. MJ’s thumb slipped into the groove between his triceps and biceps. His kneecap edged against hers like they were puzzle pieces trying to lock together. Was it capsizing when Peter tipped her onto her back? He remembered he wasn’t so great with boat lingo. Or boats. You bet your Lego Death Star he still couldn’t take a ferry since his high seas (Staten Island crossing) humiliation. Seeing a boat (ship?) sliced in half like a baked potato was unnatural and traumatic. It was like… like… Well, like riding on the outside of an alien donut ship (no actual donuts―the disappointment lingered) straight into space.

Because… what?

Peter ran his hand languidly down her body. Her hips opened like a magic trick. He touched her where he’d touched before and MJ squirmed to get even closer. Once they’d relaxed (a relative term) into the eager motions of his fingertips rubbing wetness up over her clit, she felt for him too. Not as in sympathized, as in scrolled her fingers down the responsive organic interface of his body and tentatively rubbed her palm down the length of his dick. Was thinking in convoluted tech-speak helping dampen his ferocious desire for her? Uhhh, no. Peter emptied his lungs through his nose, lightheaded. He scrubbed a little faster, her hot and slick under his fingers.

With each of her breaths a shudder, MJ looked up at him through hazy eyes. Her hand quit the open-palmed stroke to close around him. _Fist, Peter_ , he thought. _That’s the word for the compression of her hand. Fist, like for fighting_. And boy, oh boy, was he fighting now. Fighting not to push into that confident fist and explode, dousing it and her stomach.

“Little looser,” he begged and her grip slackened to withstand-able pleasure. But then, Peter traced his fingers lower and it really didn’t seem to matter what he said, because MJ was just reacting. “Ok?” he checked, showing her his intention by pushing an inch of middle finger inside her. MJ’s nod was all over the place; a bobblehead on the dashboard of a vehicle going aggressively off-road.

He eased in further, and that was exactly the word for it: easy. Wow, she felt… Peter couldn’t even communicate it to her, how intensely he wanted her. MJ was better at it. MJ was the best. Mouth stretched open―with, maybe disbelieving gratification?―she rubbed her face against his shoulder, then moaned near his ear as he subtly bent his sheathed finger. His breathing was uneven, her legs were shivering. Everything had a vibration to it and what Peter couldn’t absorb rocked him. At least, that was the explanation he was distantly prepared to give for why he kept grinding into MJ’s thigh. (She was still grasping him, just not there. He really couldn’t blame her, or even think to, with that spectacular look on her face that recalled to Peter the greatest triumphs of his life―like kicking Thanos, or eating an entire extra-large bacon, olive, and sausage pizza by himself.)

“I’m going to give you a little more, ok?” Honestly, he could barely get the words out. “So I don’t hurt you when I―when we―when I replace my hand with―”

MJ made a humming sigh noise and Peter felt the muscles under the slippery arousal grab his finger, then the second he carefully added. He played a hunch.

“When I fill you,” he breathed into her ear, lips sweeping the soft lobe. He drew back and watched the goosebumps rise all over her skin. Thank you, super-sight.

“ _God_ , Peter,” she praised.

“Not quite,” he muttered, “but I know a guy.”

Peter jammed his thumb against MJ’s clit and wriggled side to side, remembering how he’d brought her to climax the other time―that time she’d reminded him of (not that he’d been able to get himself off to anything else since, OBVIOUSLY) out on the balcony tonight. It was a memory that deserved to be relived and honoured ad infinitum, seeing as it had kinda led to this, right now. It deserved devotion and gratitude and a virgin sacrifice. Make that two.

MJ buckled under him, hauling him in with her arms looped around the back of his neck. Hey, he was getting good at this! She gasped his name as she came and it almost sounded like an accusation. Because of _course_ it did. Peter just snorted warm air against her throat and bit lightly at her skin. It was impossible to remove his fingers for a _while_. He was loving that.

Clasp relaxing, MJ breathed deeply and drew Peter into a fervent open-mouthed kiss.

“More?” she asked him quietly after a minute, wearing a shallow, satisfied smirk.

“More,” Peter agreed.

He leaned over the side of the bed and snatched a condom from the inviting fold (just seeing the whole set of them there was promising), then they moved together―a little shaky, a lot enthusiastic. It took longer than it should have to get the wrapper off, since both of them had their hands on the small square. Like a ridiculous, scaled-down game of Twister; right thumb: condom.

“Well, you made _that_ a lot harder than it needed to be,” MJ said, crumpling the wrapper and reaching up and backwards to put it on her bedside table.

“I have this weird feeling that that should’ve been my line,” Peter replied, braced up on his elbow while he looked down between their bodies and rolled the condom on. Seriously, this seemed _way_ less real than fighting an evil purple Martian.

“Yeah, I guess that’s… fair.” She sounded faint. Peter’s head shot up instantly. Oh, she was kinda staring where his hand still gripped his length, ready to (dear Thor) plunge in.

“I can stop,” he promised, “whenever…”

“No, no,” MJ said hurriedly. “Just taking a, uh, mental snapshot.”

That made sense to Peter, who’d been trying to take an entire mental video since the balcony. Like, multiple camera angles, a mic on MJ to catch every gasp and moan, full-on, unedited director’s cut. Though the struggle with the condom may have been relegated to the bloopers.

“Should I wait for the _click_?” he joked.

“Yeah,” she encouraged, twisting her legs around the backs of his and grabbing his ass with two hands (a look passed between them, during which Peter sensed both parties acknowledging that this had been an impressively bold move), “don’t blink.”

She guided him down to her, instinctively angling her own hips until his covered erection nudged between her thighs. Then she gave him a very straight look with her powerful brown eyes, a bald look that said, well, everything, really. It was an MJ look, and it was only for Peter.

He took a very deep, very even breath. Pressing into her was just like putting on his suit with it already sucked tight to fit his body.

“Same exact thing,” Peter whispered to himself, eyes squeezed shut.

MJ shifted and his eyes opened. She nodded repeatedly, seeming not too tense. Her hands stroked back and forth from his neck to his shoulders and he wondered how hard she was working to keep herself relaxed. On her next exhale, Peter lowered himself so that he was more on top of her, not just above her. It felt good and intimate and right for them. Now, he could feel her breathing. Now, he could really look into her eyes. He thrust forward some more, plumbing her blindly. It totally felt illegal, like they would kick him out of the Avengers for this. Peter would make that trade.

What was strange, he thought, was how some guys felt too intimidated, or even emasculated, to date a woman their own height or taller. Peter, meanwhile, had thought he’d appreciated MJ’s height before. Being fully against her―having their bodies reach and bend and curve and adjust―absolutely cemented the perfection. He could feel MJ’s toes digging into the back of his calves, her hips pushing to seal with his, and her face, her beautiful face, always right below his to be kissed. Everywhere he went, there she was.

After filling her inch by inch (he was a man of his word), following with his dick what his fingers had begun, Peter was ecstatic to be completely in, joined, and all of the other words and phrases for this divine accomplishment―gifted by evolution and gleefully received by horny teenagers the world over. (The universe over, for that matter. Surely everybody out there didn’t just sit around and plot Earth’s demise, or whatever. What a bummer that would be for all involved.) MJ smiled like he’d forced it out of her, but the joke was on her because Peter knew those were the most genuine smiles she had.

“How you doing?” he asked, holding himself paralyzed though he was _dyyying_ to slide out so he could feel this all over again.

“Hanging in there, Spider-Man,” she assured him. He snorted an uncomfortable, dismissive laugh that made her eyes narrow. “What’s your problem?” MJ probed. “I’m just using the name I assume _you_ came up with. Afraid I’m going to activate a dormant kink?”

Peter rolled his eyes. His hips tried to continue things on their own, so he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

“No, you just caught me off-guard. The few people who know I’m both tend to just call me Peter.”

“Well, that’s a very tidy, logical explanation,” she declared. Peter knew he was in trouble.

“I’m gonna get back to what we were doing.”

“Ok then,” MJ consented. She traced her fingers teasingly across his chest. Where she held him firmly inside herself, Peter felt a distinct squeeze. If her touching him turned her on that much, then at least they were even. Her palms flattened to his skin. “Come on, Spider-Man.”

A tingling raced up his neck, under his jaw, behind his ears. Peter was immediately reminded of Mr. Toomes collapsing a building on him, and the pep talk he’d given himself before lifting the crushing weight from his back. When, suit-less, he’d really recognized his power for the first time. When he’d summoned his own potential. When he’d felt that sheer ability rocket through him.

Giving MJ a little _I know something you don’t know_ grin, Peter pitched his hips back and then forward again. Her face said she was still adjusting, though not painfully. He planted his hands, clawing securely to her butter-yellow bedsheets, and thrust twice―rapidly, not too hard or too deep. An airy sound, almost of confusion, escaped MJ. Her hands tightened at his chest. Peter did it again, two more in quick succession, a little deeper. MJ’s arms jumped to wrap around him, fingers gripping the middle of his back. He didn’t feel like Luke the first time he’d held a lightsaber, he felt like the lightsaber. Buzzing, energized, and―fuck it, sorry, George Lucas―erect. Peter’s dreams, sleeping or awake, did not measure up.

Keeping his thrusts so precise meant thinking, and even though that was a thing he wasn’t half bad at, and even though he was ‘super’ (to be subjectively qualified), and even though he could see that this swift stroking technique was warming MJ from the inside out, Peter was sixteen. Their first time wasn’t going to be him bringing her gradually to her boiling point. He was going to set her on fire and throw himself at the flame.

There was something―he probably wouldn’t call it a rhythm―happening that Peter’s hips and MJ’s hips had apparently agreed on without sharing the plan with their brains. It involved a lot of gasping (on her side) and foggy chanting of “M, oh, _M_ ” (on his). Her sweaty hands kept finding and following the muscles of his back, detouring to his ass again when he changed angles a bit. When MJ really started grabbing at him and inhaling jerkily like she was about to sneeze, Peter rubbed up against her with his hips, burying his nose right behind her ear. For a suspended moment, his breathing seemed to echo off the soft surfaces of her hair, her skin, and her pillowcase. He had a slowed down awareness of each in and out, MJ’s temperature, the thin moisture of her back (where he tucked his hand under her because he just needed her _closer_ ) vs. the thick, miraculous wetness surrounding his erection.

Then, Peter drew way out, nearly all the way out, and lowered his head to suck hard on MJ’s nipple, teeth edging it tenderly. He let go and drove back into her, catching her clit from the outside. She cried out. The noise was unstructured and uncomplicated and it shook Peter. He battled through the insane snugness of MJ’s shuddering channel, her hip held desperately in his damp grasp. Bucking, Peter pulsed and pulsed and pulsed and… released. He’d never felt so empty. His heart leapt as he let MJ hug him to her with her encircling arms. He’d never felt so whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said something about not leaving endnotes when the next chapter would contain sex, but I would like to inform you, in case you're wavering, that it is your moral imperative to comment on this chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I *so* should've noted this last week, but you're getting the first two full-on sex chapters during February in the run up to Valentine's Day! What great planning that looks like on my part, except to those of you who've been reading since October and know that I don't plan, merely fumble into things by accident! Anyway, LOVE MONTH! Hooray!

XX

Peter had ruined peeing for her. Stupid, dreamy, superhero boy with his awesome disguise that showed off his cute butt. All MJ wanted to do was empty her bladder and enjoy being alone in the bathroom―usually a dead zone where her thoughts held off and her active mind napped―but she was having realization after realization. Peter had gone up the Washington Monument _from the outside_. Peter fought bad guys. Peter wasn’t Tony Stark’s intern, he was his equal. Peter had saved her mom’s life.

MJ was shocked enough that her body finally decided to pee. Maybe it was a fight or flight instinct, except she clearly couldn’t fight Spider-Man, and she didn’t want to run from Peter. Washing her hands, she side-eyed the garbage. She kicked the bin tentatively, then picked it up and gave it a hearty shake to bury the used condom Peter had dropped into it deep under crumpled tissues and dull razorblades; there was a gap wider than the Brooklyn Bridge between her mom knowing that MJ was prepared for sex and finding out she’d actually had it. And would hopefully (MJ’s hope) have more of it, despite her vagina feeling sort of like pressing a day-old bruise. Yeah, no doubt that would ache more later.

The initial sting, the pleasure that numbed body and brain, the belated ache: that was basically knowing Peter, wasn’t it? Specifically, that was having a crush on Peter. All of that seemed more intense now, compounded as MJ mentally fused her boyfriend with his secret identity as the defender of Queens (and the world?). The crush itself was more intense. Was it still just a crush when it felt like this?

She returned to her empty bedroom and put on pajamas. Peter had left temporarily to check in with ‘the team’ (that was going to take getting used to) and already MJ missed seeing his Spider-Man suit draped on the floor. Embarrassingly, she’d been watching him for so long that she was used to none of his moves surprising her―she’d basically known Peter was going to quit marching band before _he_ did―and even with her suspicions, this should have been a significant shock. Instead, it was like something in her wanted to adapt to this, was ready to find his super-status familiar, was prepared to let MJ be the person who burnt every slice of bread she ever tried to toast _and_ who Spider-Man lost his virginity to. Her nonchalance had been offered new bounds and had apathetically refused to recognize them.

The smart thing to do would be to get some sleep. Re-establish that special, former dynamic she shared with Peter by being out cold when he got back and refusing to wake up, even for Spider-Man. But her overwhelmed brain rejected rationality and the sweet satisfaction of belligerence.

Falling in love with him was a real bitch.

MJ sighed and pulled out the Night Pad. Might as well mark down something rough before the image of Peter’s naked body could be faded by sleep. Settling in bed and digging her feet under her bunched up covers, MJ flipped to a fresh page, angling her pad against her bent legs. She would go for it, outlining his hips, the tensed muscles of his thighs, and the erection that had lived and died for her. No, wait! She’d map the rolling strength of his back, use careful shading to faithfully portray the way her fingers had dug in, dents as desperation. Or do a quick study of _his_ hands: in her hair, on her body, _in_ her body…

Trying to plan was making her agitated, so MJ just let her pencil do the work, her entire arm jerking in haste and intentness. The strokes were long, but they weren’t forming Peter’s legs or back or arms. It was his face, close up, the expression as she had only seen it once. MJ worked, heart pounding. She rolled onto her stomach and laid at the correct diagonal to minimize arm-shadows interrupting the light from her bedside lamp. Could this be right? Had his jaw really looked so rigid yet his lower lip so relaxed as his mouth fell open? Was there really that much difference between an expression of pleading and one of pleasure? In the sketch, Peter’s eyebrows didn’t think so. MJ was getting into it, framing his features, challenging her two-dimensional medium as she fleshed out the vital curves of her favourite face. Actually, it wasn’t that hard. Orgasm looked good on him.

It was the way he’d squinted as he climaxed that demanded the most concentration to replicate and MJ leaned her head closer and closer to the page, sketching with a light hand to put down fine details.

“What are you working on?”

MJ screamed and slammed the Night Pad closed before lying flat on top of it. Breathing hard, she turned and craned her head. Peter was on the ceiling above her. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Doesn’t Spider-Man know how to knock?” she demanded.

“Spider-Man doesn’t normally make house calls.” Peter pulled off his mask and let it flop to the floor.

She eyed him, wanting to whip the sketchbook out and stuff it somewhere he wouldn’t look. Not that he would pry. Shit, she felt edgy and defensive now.

“So I guess there _is_ a difference between Peter Parker and Spider-Man: only one of them has manners.”

“I was curious,” he explained, voice going high and irresistibly plead-y. “I love your art.”

“All of it?”

“Definitely.”

The nerd was going to make her smile.

“Then just assume you’d love this too.” Even though he was looking, MJ pulled the pad from beneath her and put it back on the shelf within arm’s reach. Peter watched it sort of longingly.

“You’re not gonna show me?”

“I’ll think about it.” She would? She hadn’t really _seriously_ considered showing him those drawings before because, hello, creepy. MJ turned over onto her back to face Peter. He wasn’t letting her think straight.

“Really?” His expression brightened and she smiled, rolling her eyes at her own weakness for him.

“Sure, I’m not a liar like _some people_.”

It was really screwing with her grasp of physics to see Peter, crouched on the ceiling of her bedroom, gesturing and reacting like he would the right way up. Like gravity could just chill until he was ready to get back to it. MJ stood up on her bed, one hand on the wall in case his freakiness made her dizzy.

“I didn’t lie, I just couldn’t tell you.”

MJ sighed, making the exhale nice and judge-y. She reached out and touched the chest of Peter’s suit.

“‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive!’” she recited, tracing the graphic spider icon under her fingers.

He groaned.

“I can’t believe you just said that.”

“I didn’t say it,” she informed him, “Sir Walter Scott did.”

“Well, I bet Sir Walter Scott never meant for it to be used to mock someone with spider-powers!”

“Then Sir Walter Scott can bite me.”

“That’s disrespectful,” Peter warned, but he was grinning.

“Just like sneaking into someone’s room.”

“Next time I’ll knock,” he promised.

Her eyebrows raised.

“Next time?”

Peter’s mouth hung open, speechless, and MJ really, _really_ badly wanted to tell him he’d catch flies, but she kissed him instead.

“You know, I’m kinda getting used to this,” he admitted, caressing her cheek when she pulled back. She smirked.

“Makes you wonder what else we could do upside-down, doesn’t it?”

Peter laughed.

“ _Way_ ahead of you,” he said. MJ drew her chin back, giving her boyfriend an _excuse me, what?_ look. “I-I mean, not way ahead,” he backtracked, brown eyes wide. “I’ve just had more time to consider it.”

She let him squat there for a minute, casting weird dramatic shadows across her ceiling. It wasn’t because she was trying to make him suffer, or because she thought (knew) that enough silence would cause Peter to blurt out more things she could embarrass him with later. It was because the fact that this was Peter Parker (supreme nerd), _and_ Spider-Man (absentee party guest), _and_ the first guy she’d ever had sex with (thank god it hadn’t been bad) was really hitting her. Maybe it was really hitting him too. Gee, he sure could hold eye contact for a long time. Though that must mean she was as well. Even upside-down, he looked like a keeper.

“I’m gonna come down there now, ok?”

MJ nodded, then jumped when Peter dismounted with a flip.

“You know,” she said, slightly astounded, “you didn’t need to be a hero. You could’ve just… joined the gymnastics team.”

“They weren’t taking new members,” he joked, staring up at her. MJ caught the nostalgic glance he gave her rumpled bedding.

“Right, and I can see how fighting side-by-side with Iron Man would seem like the obvious next choice.”

Peter smiled at her.

“Are you joining me?”

Right, she was still standing on her mattress like an idiot. His arms reached out―MJ assumed for her hands―and he grabbed her by the waist, lifting her with an ease that didn’t make sense for her height, the distance between them, the difference in their positions. Fuck, she wouldn’t try to figure this out. Peter’d probably have put her down if she hadn’t wrapped her legs around his hips. Woops. Watching her with cautious eyes, he ran his hands lower to hold her up by her ass, which was kind of hot. Un-woops.

Peter turned and sat down on her bed. Swallowing was hard and so was the bulge pressing into the center seam of MJ’s pajama bottoms. The condoms were still on the floor. Her mom wouldn’t be home for several hours yet. MJ attempted to establish some sort of façade in order to ignore the outrageously obvious certainty that they were about to have sex again; what she did was bury her trembling fingers in Peter’s hair and reinvigorate the waves his mask had squashed. He sat patiently and let his gaze do all the talking. At least, that’s how it seemed to MJ. Her heart pounded like it intended to drown out everything Peter’s sweet eyes wanted to say, but it wasn’t working. Neither was distracting herself. She wondered if the possibility of sex was always this hard to ignore, or if it was just because it was new. Or because it was Peter. MJ diligently raked her fingers through his hair.

“Do you need me to stop you?” he asked seriously.

“Oh god, please,” she begged, yoked to her stupid grooming pretence.

Both of Peter’s hands grasped her back and yanked her to him. Spell broken, hers were on his face, keeping that part still enough to kiss without the risk of violent, accidental tongue amputation. Peter groaned unashamedly into her mouth, sending a thrill of heat over her; MJ scooted closer, or maybe she wasn’t even getting any closer, because they were already right up against each other. Maybe she was just prolonging these moments of really feeling Peter―solid, gravity-resistant, I-built-a-Lego-Death-Star-what-did-you-do-this-weekend Peter.

Her fingers skimmed down his neck and over onto the center of his upper back. Preoccupied with the kissing, the texture of the suit still caught her attention. What was it made of? It was obviously durable, and flexible, and sweat-wicking (or whatever it was doing to make Peter not smell like a human gym sock when he took it off). And thin. MJ gasped as Peter gripped her ass, rubbing his groin into her. She felt Peter throb. Yep, the suit sure was thin. You could flatten this baby out and pass it between the blocks on one of the Great Pyramids.

With MJ’s thighs clamped to his hips, Peter apparently felt sufficiently assured of her devotion to the task of grinding against him to let her go. His hands went to the hem of her cotton pajama top, lifting it swiftly. She exhaled shakily, not complaining, and took charge to fling it over her head and away. Holding her gaze confidently in his, Peter moved her hand to his chest, like he wanted her to be the one to drop his suit this time.

“Wait,” she requested, eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired? You spent the day making the world a better place, or whatever, and then…” Her mouth wouldn’t spit out the specifics, just jumped over them. “…with me.”

He pointed to himself.

“Superhero.”

MJ grinned.

“Well, you’ve just irreversibly raised my expectations. How are you gonna―”

He wedged his hand between them, cupping the apex of her thighs. There was nothing tentative going on there. And suddenly, her pajamas bottoms didn’t seem very thick either. MJ whacked Peter’s chest, releasing the tension from his Spider-Man suit.

“Maybe a little rougher than you had to be,” he commented, glancing wryly from his chest (where the fabric now sagged) to her face. His hand remained in place. Motionless. Portentous.

MJ pointed a finger less than an inch from Peter’s nose.

“Superhero,” she reminded him, and tugged the material from his shoulders.

“You have no idea how much I’m already regretting saying that.” Peter leaned in and kissed her neck. Seemed like he’d only meant to do it once, but he kept coming back to her, and back to her, and back to her, and now MJ was breathing heavy, hips rocking shallowly, clit trying to drag on a fleshy part of his palm despite the pajamas.

“No, but I have an idea of how much you’re _going_ to regret it, based on the variety of ways I’ve already conceived of to use it to mock you. And it’s still very early stages.”

She tensed as Peter snuck his free hand into the back of her pants. They looked at each other and MJ had an uncanny feeling of being surprised by her own reflection; like, stranger! No, wait, it’s just me. Except it wasn’t her, it was him. Anyway, she sighed right when he sighed and suddenly, his hand stroking tenderly over her ass could’ve been something they were used to. Holding her gaze, Peter’s other hand―the ultra-warm one, snug between her legs―rocked. He looked at her hopefully. She shook her head.

“Move your hand,” MJ demanded.

Peter immediately complied. In fact, the speed of it was making her rethink her understanding of immediacy, he was so quick. She’d been about to get back to grinding, learning the dimensions of his erection and subtracting the thinness of each of their layers in her mind as she went, but then there was that look in his eyes.

MJ climbed off of him, backwards, and carefully untied the string of her bottoms. Their gaze held, sound. Then he looked lower to watch her hands. A fairly narrow person, MJ didn’t need to do any more work to get her pajamas off than loosen the band. They fell. Peter’s leg was jumping, the muscles of his calf flexing and shifting. That thin fucking Spider-suit fabric let her see it.

She bent.

Separated one wrapped condom from the bunch.

Tossed it onto the sheets next to her boyfriend.

Glanced at the light.

Left it on.

With her eyes on his bare chest (Peter rapidly yanked his arms free of the sleeves, leaving his torso naked), MJ gripped between his neck and shoulder, thumb pressing his collarbone, and eased her knees, one at a time, onto the mattress. Peter in the middle.

He gripped the material at his hips.

“Should I―?”

She pressed her finger softly to his mouth, then replaced it with her lips. The pull-away was unhurried. A rustle of bedding later, MJ settled into Peter like a favourite chair. His breathing had a frosty shudder to it, but was hot on her cheek. So, she wouldn’t need to ask him whether the suit felt just as thin from the inside. She ground against him, and it was a steady movement that channeled her want; she wasn’t letting her overactive bathroom-brain get anywhere near this. This was hers. It was pretty obvious that Peter was losing his shit (eyes wild when she met them), but MJ just grabbed him by the back of the neck and continued her ceaseless rubbing.

“I’m never wearing this suit again,” he mumbled, panting, maybe fogging up her skin.

“Am I supposed to give a fuck that I’m ruining something that probably set Stark back more than the average American earns in a year?” MJ spat hotly, grinding into the wet spot she’d made over his delightfully unyielding dick. She did actually give a fuck, but thought that Peter was being kind of insensitive to bring up the value of his costume _while_ she was ruining it. Fuck.

He snorted, before gasping like MJ had shoved snow down his back. She licked his throat.

“Ruining? Oh my god, no, I’m keeping this one safe forever.” He paused to bite her shoulder when she really rocked hard against him. “I’d tell you I’m gonna frame it, but that’s a lie.” Peter’s head dropped back and the look on his face as his eyes blissfully _almost_ closed nearly got her off. His voice was throatier when he spoke again; MJ’s teeth were chattering too hard to interrupt, her nerves popping like firecrackers. “I’d only break the glass right away to get at it.”

She was sweating now, definitely damp up and down her spine. His hands slid across her skin.

“What would you do with it?” she wondered in a tone that said _tell me_ now _, right_ now.

“Ohmyfuckinggod, I’d―fuck, MJ.”

And he flipped her over onto her back and tore his suit the rest of the way off before she could assess the damage to the arousal-drenched crotch. His eyes closed and he breathed in for a lot of seconds through his nose, which was just above her own.

“Baby, I’m ready,” she vowed. “Please. Again.” _You idiot, use full sentences_ , regular, non-drunk-off-her-hormones MJ said from a cramped corner of her consciousness.

Peter opened his eyes.

“Let’s make sure. Let’s… be gentle.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but Peter grabbed her hand and put it between her legs, not letting her go. Her lips were trying to form ‘Peter’ and not quite getting there.

“Do it with me,” he said. And again, “Gentle.”

MJ’s eyes rolled back, her neck arching over the swell of her pillow while Peter _It’s Always The Quiet Ones_ Parker laid his fingers over hers and made her stroke herself. She could feel the rush, the seep between their fingers, and her clit―awoken by friction and caffeinated by the simple reality of nailing Peter in the past, present, and future.

“This is my favourite night,” Peter told her, or maybe just himself, narrating to split himself, create double Peters to savour this in multiple ways.

“Peter, come on,” MJ pleaded, basically out of her mind, basically in love. There was a condom under her shoulder and she found his free hand to attempt, _insistently_ , to pass it to him. He wouldn’t take it.

“I’m still making sure,” he argued, face flushed and brown eyes too pretty to be real.

“I _am_ sure!”

“Just keep doing what you’re doing,” he instructed and ran his fingers down to her entrance. Her mouth couldn’t say more than one curse word at once, but it tried.

Peter’s fingers, felt like two, tucked inside her. The world was too hot. Her very skin was a wool blanket. She turned her head and had spots in front of her eyes for the next minute and a half from looking straight at her lightbulb.

“You were right,” Peter choked out, but he still― _gently_ ―probed deeper, coaxing her inner wall through the wetness she knew she was pouring over his hand.

“How the hell are you on the Avengers team? You’re shit at following orders.” MJ slapped the condom to his chest and this time he scrambled to grab it, getting it open with one hand. Huh. Well, she did already know he was decent with his fingers.

He looked down at her, sweeping her with his eyes from hips to head.

“I can work on that if you want me to.”

“Just… just…” Was he offering her something dirty? He was totally offering her something dirty. But she couldn’t even think. “Peter, come _on_!”

A lesser human being probably would’ve laughed at MJ, teased her for her desperation. Mocked her vulnerability. Her Peter became very serious and even before his cock bumped tentatively between her legs, she knew he was thinking about not hurting her. Which was sweet, and also made her momentarily fantasize about someday soon, when they could do this harder.

He was pressing inside, expression so focused, and MJ moved her hips around as he came to her; she didn’t know much about doing this, but she knew more than she had the first time, including how she could actively try to adjust her body to minimize the discomfort.

“You’re so careful,” she praised at a murmur. Peter sunk deep with a pleased sigh.

“Yes,” the dork told her, “I am full of care for you.”

Naturally, the correct response to this was to insult him somehow, but MJ didn’t feel like doing that. Instead, she lifted her head and ran her lips over his chest. When she let her mouth form kisses, Peter groaned and jerked shallowly, out and in. It made her skin feel alive. Yes, her skin was already alive, by nature of being a functioning organ on a living person, but Peter made her _remember_ it was alive. It felt good. _He_. _He_ felt good.

“Everything…?” Peter panted. MJ stared at his chest, at his throat when he swallowed, at the way he licked his lip. “Everything feel ok?”

She nodded encouragingly, slinging her arms loosely around his shoulders. Things were warm and comfortable and delightful. It wasn’t the same thrill sparked by Peter fingering her, but it didn’t feel strange or wrong. It seemed so right, and there was a simplicity in that. Her answer didn’t appear to flood him with the same calmness; he was twitching his mouth and easing his weight from being balanced on both forearms to only one.

His hot palm firmly caressed her hip and twisted under to the back of her thigh. He squeezed, hoisting it off the mattress. The muscles of her channel contracted in reaction to the repositioning. MJ’s eyes widened.

“I can do better,” he said.

She would’ve believed Peter anyway, even if he hadn’t dragged her towards him while thrusting forward, choreographing a moment of divine contact at a new angle that preyed on her g-spot. Very quickly, friction―or what felt like the frantic massage of a raw nerve at the center of her being―had MJ huffing out her exhales. She was warm down to her toes, then hot. Her face felt sunburnt. He wasn’t letting up.

“I love your long legs,” Peter mumbled, appreciatively groping her thigh with a roll of his fingers while he continued to hold it up, snapping into her.

“I love…” MJ attempted. “I love… I love…”

She gasped as Peter straightened his arm, bracing himself on his open palm, and made his thrusts quicker, even more (this was fucking witchcraft) precise.

“… your hands,” she decided, only because it felt too soon to say ‘your cock.’

MJ knew all about this loser’s bizarre athleticism―how he was graceful in gym class though he was clearly trying to perform averagely (yeah, she’d noticed), and now, how he was Spider-Man, climbing buildings and whatever other King Kong shit he got up to―but this was another level. While, sadly, his smooth chest moved out of kissing range, MJ was losing her mind over the sight of his lengthened torso. The bunch and flex of his abdomen as he plunged his hips forward made her almost literally drool. Rubbing her bottom lip (not that it kept the moans out), MJ raised an exploratory hand to Peter’s stomach.

“God, yes,” he consented, loose curls of hair swaying against his forehead. “Touch me.”

She grasped his shoulder firmly with her other hand, then stroked teasingly over his abs. It was like the shifting of tectonic plates right there, surging, in a rush to make a new continent. Seeing as there was nobody there but her, MJ didn’t feel like it clashed with her strong anti-imperialism beliefs to stake a claim to this territory and name it ‘Stud.’ Peter Parker was a goddamn puppy-eyed, sexually generous, marching band dropout, g-spot-hitting stud. No shit.

The leg he was responsible for felt like dead weight to MJ, whose body was alternately numb and burning with arousal. She had a distant desire to wrap her thigh around his hip, but Peter was doing too good a job all on his own. He was basically in control of the whole thing, moving them both while MJ swooned over his abs and breathed in the Peter smell coming from him and her sheets. Well, let him do the work this time. Self-satisfied super-nerd.

“Come on, Spider-Man,” she urged again with a sloppy, provocative smile. MJ’s hand shot from Peter’s shoulder to the back of his hair, giving a short yank, then holding on.

He groaned her name, eyelids tightly closed, and delivered a knockout punch to her g-spot that tossed MJ to the greedy possession of her orgasm shortly after Peter hit his. His thrusts now had the steady swing and pull of an oar through water and he eased her leg back down to the bed. It barely felt like part of her body, except that she treasured it for the memory of Peter’s touch. He wilted onto her and MJ laughed, snugging him close in her arms. It seemed likely that the gorgeous idiot would start talking soon, so she savoured the temporary silence by kissing all over his face; Peter assisted by pushing it towards her with a goofy smile. The smile she plastered a kiss too.

“ _Amaaazing_ ,” MJ whispered into his ear after working her way over with kisses.

His cooling face blushed. He shook his head.

“I can’t even describe… What can I…? How it feels with you…”

“I get it,” she promised.

“I know you do.”

It stung a bit when Peter pulled out, but watching his naked ass trot their used condom off to the bathroom was its own balm. MJ put her oversized pajama top back on and slid the sheet up. Trying for casual lack of attention, she let her gaze drift free on the ceiling; she wasn’t mentally ready to watch Peter walk back into her bedroom full-frontal, rated-R. Checking out of the corner of her eye, MJ rolled onto her side when her boyfriend had his boxers on.

“May’s probably wondering where you are, right?”

This was so dumb. MJ knew she couldn’t keep Peter here overnight. Her mom would be home. Still, she wanted him to stay. Maybe move in. Maybe use his dumb science brain to manufacture a complete environment within these four walls that would sustain their every need. Like, forever. After tonight (long before tonight), forever with him sounded good to her.

“Yeah.” He stepped into his red crime-fighting onesie and she sighed as he covered his legs, hips, fingers, arms, chest. What a loss. “But she knew I had a mission today. She’ll just blame Mr. Stark.”

“I’m ok with that.”

Peter snorted.

“What a surprise.”

“Sarcasm? Careful,” MJ warned. “Sounds like I’m rubbing off on you.”

Their eyes connected as Peter made his suit adhere to his body like cling wrap. She assumed his brain, like hers, had dunked those words in the gutter the second they came out of her mouth, because they swiftly looked away from each other. MJ chewed her bottom lip and slowly glanced back towards Peter. He was giving her that heart-squeezingly fond look. Her chest felt ravaged.

Head on an angle to better align with hers, Peter approached the bed and smoothed MJ’s hair back from her face. Totally meaningless to her. Not at all like she’d been using her hair to hide behind for almost two years as she pined for Peter across classrooms, pep rallies, and the rows of sweaty vinyl seats on bouncing, speeding school buses. He bent and kissed her for a pleasant amount of time.

“Let’s pretend I stayed tonight, is that ok?” His face was still close, his words soft, his gaze on her lips.

“I’ll let you know what my mom screamed when she found us in bed together.”

Peter did actually look terrified, despite the fictional subject matter. That was cute.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and wiped the worry off his face. “Text me her exact reaction in the morning.”

MJ smiled in contentment.

“What time? All this ass-kicking and virginity-losing is bound to catch up with you, no matter your superhero arrogance, so you’ll probably want to sleep in.”

He shook his head quickly.

“Whenever you wake up. Right away. I’ll answer. It’ll feel more like…” Peter’s gaze darted away.

“More like…?”

“Like I stayed. I’d really like to see you when you first wake up,” he confessed.

MJ couldn’t take much more of this shit. The task of reassembling her disturbingly detached school self before Monday was going to be monumental.

“I want to see you like that too.”

Peter grinned and bounded to her door. Just as fast―maybe faster―he came back and cupped MJ’s face in his hands.

“You just made my whole life tonight.”

MJ did a weird shrugging thing that was the best her body could come up with while she tried not to let the happy tears slide out of her eyes. _You just might_ be _my whole life_ , she thought.

“I would’ve assumed that even if you hadn’t said it,” she replied with bravado this guy could probably see right through.

“Well, thank you,” Peter said, smiling.

“Literally my pleasure.”

He rolled his eyes and straightened up, retreating.

“I’ll let myself out the balcony door?”

Peter was already turning around when MJ whipped the sheet back and stumbled past to get in front of him. After a moment looking into his eyes, she hugged him fiercely. He kissed her hair, holding her just as hard.

Then, by mutual understanding, they let go and passed each other without glancing back: MJ to bed and Peter out the door. And probably back up the outside of her apartment building. And maybe straight to the moon, where―she thought, putting her bottoms on and cozying in―MJ wanted to scratch their initials and outline them with a heart. Like people in love might do. Not that she’d know. Obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who's commented each week AND to the readers who commented for the first time over recent chapters! If this story results in you feeling any positive emotion (and don't you dare comment "I'm positive I hate it" because that's Lawful Evil Dad Energy), call your doctor.
> 
> No, that's not what I meant to say. If you enjoy my work, it would be awesome if you told me. There is no comment scale on which you will be judged. There is no word count you are required to meet. There is no public shaming for ineloquence, good-natured ranting, or playing fast and loose with the rules of grammar. Writing is my hobby and I do it for ~free~ so every comment is like a pay cheque and the nice things you say are money in the bank, baby! They keep me happy and motivated, which means more quality chapters for you. And if you want to be friends, find me as forasecondtherewedwon on Tumblr, or I will be forced to hunt you down Liam Neeson-style. For friendship, not murder. Shit.
> 
> HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over 20,000 hits! *hysterical giggle*

XXI

“Stop smiling,” Peter hissed at himself. “ _Stop_ smiling.”

Thankfully, his face was under control by the time Ned swung by his locker between periods.

“Heeey,” said Ned, crashing into the locker next to Peter’s. He had a dreamy look on his face that was undoubtedly due to his recent make-out session with Cindy at Saturday’s dance.

But wait, oh crap, that dreamy look was focusing, hardening to a point. Peter’s own gaze turned frantic, zipping around, anyplace but Ned’s intense stare, then diving into the open pit of the backpack he had already filled.

“You saw MJ on the weekend, didn’t you?”

Man, yes or no questions were the worst! It was so much harder to fib in a single syllable. Peter could ramble on and on, spinning an answer that practically wasn’t a lie at all (by the time he’d put in all the extra words and managed to avoid the question) as easily as he could spin web fluid, but lie flat-out? Straight to someone’s face? To Ned’s? Nope.

“Nnnnyes.” He swung his locker door and banged his head into it to shut it.

“Oh my god,” Ned said suddenly, somehow screeching at almost zero volume. “You had _SEX_?!”

Peter wasn’t sure his head had ever turned so fast. How was it that obvious? Had he missed MJ writing something on his forehead in permanent marker to commemorate the occasion? And then also been lucky enough that his aunt hadn’t seen it? By some miracle? The adrenaline was rising.

Now. Now was the time to lie.

“N―”

Ned’s warning finger appeared in front of his face.

“Don’t even try, dude. I’ll just be forced to conduct serious surveillance on both of you to study your behaviour.” Peter rolled his eyes, but he knew Ned would do it. His best friend perked up immediately following the threat. “Anyway, I’m your guy in the chair. I’m in on all Spider-Man’s operations.”

“Not this one,” Peter muttered, turning to walk down the hall.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ned continued, trotting along next to him, “so _that’s_ why we’re having an extra decathlon practice today! Man, for all the times MJ’s called _us_ losers, it’s pretty lame to schedule decathlon just so she can hang out with you.”

Meanwhile, back in Peter’s world of I’ve Never Been So Horrified This Early On A Monday, he was attempting to process, plan, and fix all at once. And trying to mentally double-check that he’d finished the chapter he was supposed to read for his next class.

“You can’t say anything about this,” he blurted, cutting across Ned’s self-congratulatory rant. “This is not like normal information. This isn’t even like when I told you about Spider-Man―”

“―when I _found out_ about Spider-Man.”

“This is… delicate.” Apparently like Peter’s current Victorian lady constitution. He felt lightheaded. Was panicking going to make him pass out?

“Re _lax_ ,” Ned urged. “There’s no way I would handle this like I handled that.”

“You did _not_ handle that! You told a gym full of people that I know Spider-Man!”

“Well, I promise not to tell a gym full of people that MJ also knows Spider-Man. Knows him really, really, _really_ w―”

Peter shot him a cautioning look and Ned closed his mouth around the word.

“Alright,” his best friend promised. “We shall never speak of it again.”

“Great.” A sigh of relief.

“Wait. Does this mean MJ _knows_?”

“Bye, Ned.” Peter pivoted towards the open classroom door. He pointed over Ned’s shoulder. “I think somebody’s waiting for you.”

Across the hall, Cindy turned pink, but didn’t quit staring at Ned. So maybe Peter could learn a thing or two from her about overcoming awkwardness. On another note, these guys were going to be disgusting together, he could feel it. He was starting to understand the utter aversion that had been in MJ’s voice when she’d recapped the dance for him over the phone.

He left Ned in Cindy’s hands―not literally, but god, hopefully PDA wasn’t on the horizon―and started up a countdown to lunch in the back of his mind. Lunch and decathlon.

* * *

So, Peter was bad at playing it cool. Really bad―unless part of playing it cool was supposed to involve his entire face burning as red as his Spidey mask the second MJ walked into the classroom for decathlon practice. In which case, he was acing it. He twiddled a pen until he realized the lid had been off the whole time and he had chaotic blue lines all over his hands. Awesome. The posterchild for chill, right here. At least Ned was too busy fumbling out tongue-tied sentences in low voices with Cindy to notice what Peter was doing.

What he really wanted to do was get up and hug MJ. Or just throw an arm around her shoulders. Or bury his nose in her hair and speak softly against her temple. Or, like, hold her hand. But he didn’t want to embarrass her.

MJ dumped her backpack at the front of the room and stared straight through their teammates, right at Peter. And she smiled. It was his first time really seeing her face since Saturday. He felt incredibly relieved. Also overwhelmed and enamoured―and less elegant, more primal versions of enamored.

“Let’s get this show on the rooooad!” Flash whined loudly. MJ sent him a vicious scowl. (Peter felt fuzzy inside.)

“Fine,” their captain snapped. “We’re getting closer to the Cleveland tournament and I think you guys need to toughen up.”

Flash jokingly put up his fists (so poorly positioned for fighting that Peter could’ve rolled his eyes) and glanced around, looking for a laugh. MJ surprised him by throwing a crumpled piece of paper at his face as he turned his head.

“Done?” she asked flatly, then addressed the team. Peter thought she was getting pretty good at leading people for somebody who used to work so hard to avoid them. “We’re going to practice head-to-head today instead of as a group. I want to see your responses get faster, so pretend that whoever I put you with is on the opposite team.”

She volunteered to go first against Cindy while Betty read out the questions. Cindy answered at a speed that, frankly, scared Peter―the girl had been fast before, but the extra push from the captain had taken her to a new level of competitive―but MJ was correct more often. Then it was Abe against Ned, who took a handful of questions to actually start paying attention to something besides Cindy, even with Peter waving his hands and holding up a scrawled sign in his notebook that said FOCUS… and then a second sign to hold beside the first, reading: MORON.

For the third set, MJ called out, “Flash vs. Betty.”

“I object!” Flash announced. The captain looked unimpressed. Peter could relate.

“This a mock debate, not a mock courtroom,” she pointed out. He really wanted to go sit with her, but she’d stayed by the front to read out the prepared quiz cards.

“I believe,” Flash continued in an outside voice, “that YOU―” Pointing at MJ. “―are guilty of giving that man―” Pointing at Peter, who was instantly alarmed. “―special treatment! I demand to face the competitor of my choosing!”

MJ sighed exhaustedly. Peter wished Flash were dumber so they wouldn’t need him on the team. MJ twisted to meet Peter’s eye. She was wearing a navy sweatshirt and looked beautiful.

“Don’t listen to him,” his girlfriend instructed. “You’re up next against Sally.”

“I’m waiting, _Penis_ Parker.”

Peter dragged himself out of his seat.

“Peter―” MJ started.

“He’s wasting too much time. You’re right,” Peter assured her, “we need to practice this.”

Flash grinned like he’d already won and bounded to stand up in front of the rest of them. Peter weaved between the desks in a path that forced him to sweep around MJ’s seat. A pencil rolled off her desk and he dove after it―though he let it hit the ground before retrieving it, unlike the ice cream incident. He straightened up and set it on her desk.

“You were the first thing I thought of this morning,” Peter said quietly as he brushed by, watching MJ contain her smile, except for in her eyes. She spoke very softly.

“Annihilate him.”

* * *

“When I use the verb ‘annihilate,’ I mean win by more than two questions,” MJ informed Peter as they walked out of school with Ned at the end of the day.

“I haven’t done as much review lately,” he defended after they’d all laughed. “I’ve been busy.”

“I guess I’m still getting used to the fact that patrolling the streets takes up a lot of Spider-Man’s free time,” she said thoughtfully as they crossed the street.

Peter stared wide-eyed at her, then at Ned, who was walking on his other side. Apparently, MJ realized her mistake. She just didn’t sound very worried.

“Oh. Ned knows, right?”

“Why would you ask that _after_ mentioning that I’m Spider-Man?”

“Uh, because I’m not a _time traveler_ , Peter,” she fired back. “I assumed Ned knew.”

“Which I did,” Ned interjected.

“But he’s Ned. Like, obviously you would’ve told Ned.”

“I am Ned,” Ned agreed cheerfully.

“Ok,” Peter conceded, nervously tugging his sweater sleeves down over his hands, “but no assumptions starting now. Deal?”

“Yes, Parker, _jeeze_. I can play it safe. You know I’m big on safe.”

MJ bumped her elbow into Peter’s arm and he remembered the way she’d slapped a bunch of condoms into his hand. He stared determinedly downward, watching his sneakers tread grimy concrete speckled with primordial constellations of gum.

“May knows,” Ned informed her, thankfully oblivious to MJ’s subtext. “And Tony Stark and the rest of those guys, _obviously_. So freaking nuts.”

“I figured,” she said and Peter glanced up to watch her smile. She caught his eye. “Peter is _not_ stealthy enough to switch between intern and superhero without one of them noticing. Look at that face.” MJ gestured as Ned grinned. “Not exactly hard to read.”

“The mask helps,” Peter said, a little offended.

Her steps angled closer to his and she took his hand.

“It was a compliment,” MJ whispered. He linked their fingers securely.

“So!” Ned began. “No butt-kicking plans tonight, right? Because I need to study _so_ bad. Oh, and I’m staying for dinner. And then there’s this new TV show I want to see.” He paused his hurried words. “Are you… coming to Peter’s, MJ?”

Peter smiled at Ned. He knew how he felt, seeing as he was hoping that his best friend’s interest in Cindy wasn’t going to change their dynamic too much either. This was his guy in the chair though.

“Actually, I’m going to the hospital. I should probably…” MJ pointed left as they walked towards an intersection. Peter guessed she had that extra sketchbook in her backpack. That private one, filled with a record of her benevolence towards sick children. Top secret stuff.

Ned stared sideways at them, gaze dropping to their clasped hands.

“If she’s going that way, then you guys probably want to make out now, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed lightly, “get lost.”

His best friend sighed heavily and sped up to catch the light. Peter glanced from him to MJ, who was still holding his hand.

“We do, right?” he checked.

“We definitely do,” she agreed.

Unhurriedly, MJ draped her arms over his shoulders; Peter wiggled his between her back and backpack. Wow, his heart was pounding. He thought about saying something, but there was nothing he could say that would be better than kissing her. So he went with that. MJ’s face bobbed against his as their lips pulled in and pushed out like their own personal tide. If this was supposed to feel kinda routine after they’d done so much more, then they were obviously doing it wrong, because kissing her felt amazing. Peter’s fingers scrunched and gripped MJ’s sweatshirt at the small of her back, trying to bring her closer. The swelling length in his jeans thought this was a great idea.

It drove him crazy in the best way that he had to be the one to break contact, because MJ wasn’t helping at all. It took a minute (and lingering kisses, as Peter assumed both of them were trying to convince themselves that this kiss was the last one, no _this_ kiss was the last one, no this…) to isolate a reason why this embrace felt different from the other times he’d kissed her (standing up). When Peter realized it was trust, that he could actually _feel_ the way she trusted him now that he’d let her in on his second identity, he knew he had a big new responsibility.

“If Ned gets to my place before me, he’s going to tell May I’m back here making out with you.”

MJ snickered.

“Ok,” she said, patting his chest. He knew she was feeling the muscle beneath―they weren’t fooling each other. “Go catch up. Take to the rooftops.”

“Have a good afternoon,” he said as she gracefully scooped her hair up into a ponytail.

“Hey,” MJ added, plucking at his shirt. “We should plan something soon. I need the thought of plans to get me through the school day when you’re sitting right there and I can’t―” She made a grating sound of frustration and Peter laughed. He decided to tease her.

“What kind of thing would we plan?” he wondered, tracing the skin above the crewneck of her sweatshirt with a light, controlled touch. She shivered.

“You know damn well,” MJ insisted, but she’d blushed.

Crap, this was backfiring; Peter’s body had determined that his calming erection should be reawakened. He shifted nearer to his girlfriend.

“Come on, just tell me. You know you’re smarter than me,” he sucked up.

“True, but I think even you should be able to figure this one out.”

Peter shrugged, backing away from her.

“Maybe, maybe not. You might have to intervene and help me.”

“ _You_ might have to get over yourself and your little ploy and _ask_ me to.”

“We’ll see who cracks first then,” he said with a final nod.

“Bring it,” she challenged. Then mouthed, “Spider-Man,” before turning to wait for a green light.

Dammit, that was not fair. MJ was changing the pure, symbolic name of Spider-Man into something that made him feel… made him want to… Peter clenched his fists to his temples and forced himself to cross the street instead of racing back to her.

He sprinted up to Ned one building from home.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“MJ’s going to the hospital?” Ned asked.

“Yeah.” Peter let them into his building.

“Are we worried?”

He laughed at Ned’s confused face.

“No, she has this whole secret hobby where she’s nice to people without them having to endure her distant loathing for years beforehand.”

“She never loathed you, dummy.”

“I’m still shocked by that every time it crosses my mind,” Peter joked. “Anyway, she goes, she hangs out, she draws.”

“Are they good? The drawings?”

“Yeah. Well, I haven’t seen them, but, you know.”

“But you’re obsessed with her so anything she does is automatically perfect. Yeah, I know,” Ned quipped.

“Shut up,” Peter fought back half-heartedly. “I’m sure she’ll show them to me eventually.”

He frowned. Was there something he’d forgotten?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone in this story is so freaking fun to write. I want Ned to be *my* sidekick. I even love Flash. Favourite minor characters in this story, anyone?
> 
> Next time on How to Get Away With Keeping Your Sex Life Secret (JK Ned's Too Observant): Aunt May wards off vampires while dragging Peter into an Uncomfortable Chat. Peter and MJ struggle not to make or discuss plans. Whether Peter wins or loses is up to readers' interpretation.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *obnoxiously long drum solo intro*

XXII

“… and so,” Tony concluded, arms spread to the group assembled around him, “another crisis averted. Another gold star for us. No thanks to Arachno-Boy over there.”

He pointed directly at Peter (kind of unnecessary, he thought), who jerked his head back, surprised and annoyed.

“You _told_ me I could leave!” Peter argued.

He would’ve kept his mouth shut if they were still in official debriefing with Fury and those other SHIELD guys, but they’d wrapped that up in the conference room a half hour earlier; now, Mr. Stark was recapping, basically to hear his own voice, with everybody casually sprawled around on couches.

“You definitely told him to go, Stark,” Ms. Romanoff confirmed dispassionately.

“And an extra gold star for Natasha!”

“Are you trying to bribe me into toeing the party line by using fictional rewards?” Whoa, her expression was so controlled. Impressive.

Tony’s mouth twitched like Peter had seen it do, oh, a million times when he wasn’t getting his way. Didn’t matter what the subject was―same reaction.

“Your star is revoked.”

“I’m missing half a day of school for this,” Peter grumbled under his breath. Almost everybody glanced over at him. Yeah, maybe not the best company in which to test the limits of human hearing. Lotta non-100%-humans in here.

“Add it to my tab of ‘reasons Aunt May hates me’,” Tony suggested flippantly. He was now eating―what was that? Looked like macadamia nuts―by the handful.

“I really don’t think she feels _that_ strongly, but I do need to try to get home for dinner.”

“Man, the second you settle down, you’re just no fun anymore,” his mentor complained before flashing him a grin. Peter rolled his eyes. Mr. Stark made him sound like a married man with half a dozen kids and a house in the suburbs.

Anyway, Peter stood and said his goodbyes to everybody, including one that came with a particularly knowing look from Dr. Banner.

“Everything worked out then?” the doctor asked quietly.

“Yeah,” Peter said, exhaling slowly, “everything’s good. But, Dr. Banner… when does knowing that she knows your secret and still likes you stop being so terrifying?”

“If that ever happens, you’re my first call,” Bruce whispered with a shy smile of solidarity.

* * *

Peter opened the apartment door and waded through an invisible cloud of garlic-scented steam so powerful that he thought his eyeballs were going to shrivel up in his head and roll down his esophagus like billiard balls in a pocket. It wasn’t late yet, but apparently May had gotten a head start on dinner while he was still on the highway home. (Inside a driverless Stark-mobile, not on the roof of a random transport, because he knew his aunt would ask.)

“How was it?” May called out as Peter slung his backpack down by the door and dumped his jacket on top. She yelped, jumping back from the stove, then darting forward to slam the lid on a tall pot.

“Fine,” he summarized as his aunt turned to him, wiping the fogged lenses of her glasses on her t-shirt. “Mr. Stark sends you ‘hugs, but not in a creepy way,’” Peter quoted. He saw she was making spaghetti, so he started pulling bowls out of the cupboard.

“Yikes.” She became distracted a second later, fiddling with the stove dial. “He is so the kind of guy I would’ve let feel me up in college.”

“WHAT?” He nearly dropped the bowls.

May looked at him, startled.

“As in, a drunken mistake, Peter, _Jesus_. Like, if I had to put him in a category.”

“Why is that a whole category?”

She was scarring him for life right now, he hoped she knew that. These were his formative years; not like childhood, where stuff about May’s personal (dating) life would immediately slip through the cracks of his memory. These were the years when Peter’s authority figures could influence him _forever_ , either for better or worse. Plus, after the weekend he’d just had, anything remotely sexual was going to hit his psyche―and hit it _hard_ ―right now.

“It’s… it’s not really a category. I misspoke.” Liar. She was doing that wobbly shoulder/neck/head thing she did, literally dancing part of her body around as she danced around an issue. Peter laid out their place settings and decided to end this conversation before either of them had to suffer further.

“Did you salt the pasta water?”

“I might have.”

“May,” Peter insisted. “You have to salt the pasta water.”

“I put some minced garlic in the bottom,” she mumbled. Ha, there was a Spidey sense for that. He heard her perfectly.

“In the water?”

“Uhhh huh.”

“Was that by accident, or are we actively trying to ward off vampires?”

“What is going on tonight, Peter?” May confronted him, brandishing the wooden spoon that had just dunked the last of the softening noodles below the pot’s waterline.

“Nothing’s going on, except that my lung are full of vaporized garlic, but you said one time that garlic is good for you, so I’ll circle back to ‘nothing’s going on.’”

“Did I freak you out?”

“When you pointed the spoon at me like a sword?” His eyebrows were up. All the way up. Heading up the forehead elevator to the top floor. “Oooh,” Peter relented, sliding over to the table again on sock feet. “The groping thing.”

“I did not say grope.”

“Technically true, since you didn’t use that word, but what you _did_ say is another way of saying grope.”

“You’re doing your panic voice.” She strained the pasta, giving the colander a mighty shake. Good riddance to the garlic water, Peter thought.

“Am I?” He gripped the back of his chair. His voice could not have sounded louder. He may have shattered their dinner glasses and even now, water would be pouring all over the table.

“It’s fine.” In a second, May waved off his fears. “You’ve scared the hell out of me a few times recently. It was time to balance the scales.” She ladled a generous amount of tomato sauce over each portion of spaghetti. “But… I’m not gonna forget that horrified face you made when I brought up, you know…”

“Please don’t say it.”

“ _Physical intimacy_.”

“God, May, _why_?” Peter took the bowl he was handed and sank down, wishing he could crawl under the table and straight to his room. He would’ve probably felt full soon anyway, breathing all the garlic out of the air.

“Ok, ok.” She spooned parmesan cheese onto her dinner. “One question though.”

“No,” Peter answered. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more uncomfortable.”

May reached across the table and playfully whacked the back of the fist he had propping up his cheek.

“This is serious, pal.” Peter reluctantly met her eye. “You were kidding about the vampire thing, right? I mean, there isn’t any secret data you’d like to tell me about― Peter, quit laughing!”

He couldn’t. If spaghetti noodles came out his nose, he’d have to ignore the pain and grab his phone to show Ned.

“Well,” May argued, exasperated, “what about that bug girl you met in space?! What about the god guy? Fuck, Peter, a spider bite turned you into a superhero! All those are supposed to do is give you an itchy red mark that takes like a month to go away.”

Peter was still laughing. His face hurt. May let her fork clang down into her bowl and threw up her hands.

“Sure, when you talk about supernatural stuff, it’s normal, but when I ask one question―Peter, quit it!”

But now she was laughing too. The smoke detector started to blare.

“Oh shit,” May chuckled. “I left the garlic bread in the oven.”

Peter coughed, collecting himself.

“That’s too bad, because I really think I need more garlic in my diet.”

Laughter burst from his aunt. She shoved away from the table and came around to his side.

“You are a nightmare,” she declared, and kissed the top of Peter’s head.

* * *

“Night, May,” Peter replied, several seconds after his aunt had shut his door and headed off to bed and whatever new self-help or parenting book she was reading.

(The publishing industry had yet to produce a volume specifically tailored to single guardians of teenage superheroes, and this was a major annoyance in May’s life. She was trying to get books that came as close to her situation as she could manage; Peter had cracked up when he’d seen her reading something about ‘the changes in her teen’s body.’ Yeah, that was one way to phrase waking up one day and finding out you can walk on the ceiling.)

He wasn’t ready for sleep, though he should’ve been. Maybe he hadn’t tired himself out doing the usually nightly neighbourhood rounds, but Peter had put in at least as much effort mentally over the course of the day―culminating in May’s excruciatingly awkward dinner chat. There was something on his mind. Someone. Someone who was also in his ears, up his nose, on his tongue, all over his skin… MJ’s trace clung to him just like he clung to… well, every surface he’d tested so far. Peter exhaled heavily. He propped his arm under his head and flipped his phone, end over end, against his stomach. He decided he should call her. Yes, definitely call her. No, wait. It was late. He should text her.

He should text her saying…?

 _Hey_ , Peter tapped out and sent. ‘Hey’???

 _Peter??_ Came MJ’s response. _Is that you?_

What? He was thrown. Had his own girlfriend accidentally deleted his number?

_Yeah. Should I have gone with something less generic than hey?_

_No, that wasn’t the problem. Thought my phone had been bugged for a second._

He squinted at her text, confused.

 _Get it?_ she prompted moments later. _Bugged?_

Sure, he was smiling, but he wasn’t going to tell MJ that. The little dots saying that she was writing again maybe meant more to Peter than any sacred document. Like the milkshake section of a McDonald’s menu.

_What are you doing anyway, loser? Letting some poor citizen come to harm while you hang around and talk to me?_

_Actually, I’m in bed._ Oh no. He’d done it. He’d already freaking done it and the conversation had barely begun. Peter had sent MJ exactly the kind of text that girls _hate_ to―

 _Same_ , she informed him. _Good place to think._

 _To think about… plans?_ “Say yes,” he muttered. “MJ, say yes.”

_If I had any plans, maybe._

So she wasn’t ready to concede. That was ok. Peter was tougher and more patient than she knew.

 _You could always make some_ , he suggested.

 _Tempting._ Ok, this was it. She was giving in. _I could just make plans by myself, but plans are better with two people._

Peter looked quickly away from his phone, pulse racing. He repositioned, getting flat on his back with his knees up, and kneaded his palms across his thighs. Lifting his phone from its resting place on his chest, he was startled to see MJ’s suggestive words still floating there.

 _You could try initiating. The plans_ , he added, brain catching up after he’d sent the first part.

_Tried that and got teased. Maybe I’ve lost my motivation._

Alright, fair. But she hadn’t hated the teasing at the time. Come to think of it, Peter recalled MJ being rather responsive to it.

“You’ve got one shot at this, Spider-Man,” he coached himself, staring hard at his glowing screen.

_You don’t like it when I tease you?_

_You fucking sneak. We are so not talking about the same thing right now!_

_Right. Because obviously we were talking about making literal plans._

She sent him a slyly smirking emoji. Yeah, just like he thought. Peter took a really, really deep breath and started tapping at his keyboard.

_Well, I’ll tell you about the kind of plans I want to make with you._

_Anything like what we’ve done before?_

It was unclear to him whether MJ was finally, openly addressing the fact that they were talking about sex, or just taunting him with the _possibility_ of the idea to see if he’d let her win whatever little battle they’d begun.

 _Maybe._ Wait her out, he decided. When he dropped his phone to his chest, the weight felt massive, though he could’ve lifted the entire top story of this apartment building. It vibrated with her response. A toy defibrillator, restarting his heart.

_Like the trip upstate?_

_If you want a ride._ Under his jaw, Peter’s pulse throbbed. Its swollen echo came from between his legs, where blood was rushing.

_Or like going out for ice cream?_

_But something else under my tongue._

_My, grandmother, what big teeth you have. I’m convinced_ , she admitted. _It does sound like you’ve got specific plans in mind._

Was it really surrendering when it felt this good? Although, maybe that wasn’t so much the surrendering as the way he was stroking himself―fingers and hand, wrist and forearm, trapped in the stifling tent of his pajama bottoms. He texted back and it felt like driving under the influence (not that Peter had practical experience of that highly illegal and ethically wrong exploit).

 _I want you again_ , he simultaneously wrote and whispered, living in his phone’s arctic beam of light. _I want you as soon as possible. Haven’t stopped since Saturday._

Maybe this crap he was saying was amateurish and blunt, but that wasn’t bothering Peter at the moment. In his mind, his hand was hers, and it was playing with pressure, gliding down effortlessly and snug on the upstroke. It was incredibly easy to imagine her on his lap, in his lap. Her on him, him in her. Peter upped his pace.

 _So the plan is…_ MJ prompted. God, she was so level-headed it was unreal. Peter switched to breathing through his mouth without thinking about it.

_To make you feel as good as I can for as long as we’ve got. Find time for me and I’m there._

_There’s something I think I should show you._

Peter laughed giddily, hips starting a muffled thump against the mattress as he hurtled inevitably towards climax; it was the ground and he was in freefall.

 _I still remember how you looked_ , he assured her. Did she really think he could’ve forgotten that sight?

_That’s not exactly what I mean._

_Don’t worry_ , Peter typed and retyped, as desire made even his hyper-accurate fingers fumble. _I can picture you._

_Ok, Spider-Man. Picture me._

His phone smacked his chest as Peter strained upward, thrusting his erection through his fist, filling the circle of his fingers and, in his head, MJ. Desperately, he grabbed for his phone again and thumbed away from their texts back to MJ’s contact page. He scrolled, trying to get her face centered on the screen―the picture, one he’d taken spontaneously, her expression half smile, half surprise (later annoyance). Dammit, he needed two hands for this, but he wasn’t willing to spare the other. He probed at the screen, eyes squeezing shut. No, fuck it. Peter released his phone. He knew MJ’s face and this was happening now. Couldn’t. Wait.

He came with a wet gasp, disoriented and ecstatic in the dark of his room. Peter kicked his pajamas off with limp legs. _Breathe_ , he thought, and did. After a minute, his hand flopped onto his chest and dug at the smooth edges of his phone. He raised reluctant lids to focus on the screen. That was strange, it was― Oh shit. He brought it to his ear.

“…Peter?”

“Yeah.” What else could he say?

“I heard you.”

“Yeah. Ok, night!”

He hung up rapidly, preferring to stew in long moments of his own silence rather than so much as a millisecond of hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I think you'll find that what this story needed was a clumsy foray into sexting.
> 
> Also, shout-out to my many incredible aunts, who are nothing like May Parker. They make May look so subtle.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I must finally reveal to you that I am a human being with a life and commitments outside of my fanfiction posting schedule and thus, for the first time in 23 chapters, an update has been *gasp* one hour late!
> 
> Thanks for your patience, all :) Now, let's put Peter out of his misery and see what MJ thought about that phone call...

XXIII

It felt like everyone knew. All day, it was hard to meet anyone’s eye because Peter was sure that when he looked up, he’s see them laughing at him over last night’s masturbatory mishap. He avoided Flash like the plague; the word ‘penis’ being spoken within Peter’s earshot (which was, ok, pretty far) would necessitate a fight to the death. On the plus side, keeping his head down meant that he really focused during Chem class―not on the assigned work, but on the beaker he stirred furiously below the lip of his lab desk. Peter thought he was finally making progress on that whole web-fluid-taking-the-paint-off-May’s-walls thing. Which would be happy news to take home. If he survived the day.

Apparently, he looked so tortured before lunch that Ned didn’t even try to joke around, just joined him in a solemn, funereal march to the cafeteria. Yeah right. As if that could last.

“One question,” Ned requested after several slow minutes of Peter’s trudging effort at chewing a perfectly decent sandwich. He lifted his eyebrows to encourage his best friend to continue. “You aren’t bummed out because tomorrow’s the apocalypse or something, are you?”

This was strange enough to distract Peter from tapping his foot against the floor, fearing MJ’s inevitable late entrance. He swallowed and opened his mouth, but Ned was having second thoughts.

“No, don’t tell me. I’d rather enjoy my final hours.” He was quiet, staring pensively at the tabletop. Peter thought he was acting like a psycho. “Wait.” Ned’s head lifted. “No, definitely tell me. I’m your guy in the chair.”

“More like my guy in a straightjacket. You need to learn to lower your expectations for my catastrophes.”

“Last time…”

“Ok, good point. It’s just a personal thing.” Ned gave him that Ned look of _which of course you are going to include me in_. “I messed something up with MJ,” Peter admitted, skirting particulars like they were radioactive.

“That’s great!”

“What?” He shot Ned an incredulous frown.

“Three reasons,” his best friend informed him. “One, this was bound to happen at some point, so better sooner than later. Two, MJ would have been _expecting_ this to happen at some point, so, you know, refer to reason one. And three, your fallibility makes you more relatable to the common man.”

They stared at each other with vastly different expressions.

“Meaning me,” Ned added.

“I shouldn’t have to say ‘what’ again for you to know that you need to explain that,” Peter prodded.

“I’m not so sure about me and Cindy.”

“What do you mean? You guys seemed really… close.” Making a pit stop at Gross on the highway to Unbearable to Be Around.

“Well…” Ned shrugged. “We were never official and, I dunno, I feel like the attraction at the dance might have been, like, a heat of the moment thing.”

“Wow. Sorry, man.” Peter did feel genuinely bad for concentrating on how much he never wanted to see these two kissing.

“It burned too bright and too fast,” Ned sighed. As his gaze drifted down to his lunch, Peter allowed himself one disturbed stare. Ned was the absolute best, no question, but sometimes, he spoke a language that Peter couldn’t hear.

“Uh, that sucks.”

“Yeah, we talked and agreed that a brief cooling off period in order to maintain our integrity as friends and decathlon teammates would be wise, so she’s eating lunch in the back of the library with MJ.”

“Way to bury the lead!” Peter exclaimed, startling Ned out of his wacky, tragic, Shakespearean soliloquy about lost love.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been freaking out for the last―” He glanced at his watch. “―six and a half minutes because I thought she was going to come in here any second.”

“What did you _do_?” Ned wondered, awed, as he leaned forward to gaze at Peter like he was something supernatural. Ok, something _more_ supernatural than usual.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever emotionally recover enough to discuss it.” He sunk his head into his hands.

Ned shrugged.

“I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter groaned into his hands. “You’re a good friend.”

“Yeah, I know. I would’ve been a good boyfriend too.” Alarmed, Peter looked up and Ned stared back, confused. Then his expression changed. “To Cindy!”

Peter laughed until he got a cramp in his stomach.

* * *

Ned was a buffer for his worry―a cheerful, chuckling force field who whispered passionately about their latest joint Lego endeavor one minute and expressed a gratifying amount of horror the next, when Peter recounted last night’s dinner with May. He was very determinedly _not_ thinking about MJ and hoping that this would encourage his brain to do that work in the background somewhere so he’d be prepared when the time came.

It came, and he wasn’t.

He and Ned had just parted ways at Peter’s locker. Although there were tons of people around, filling the hall with the white noise of end-of-the-day mayhem, Peter knew the second MJ stopped right behind him. Weird. He’d thought that extra sense he had was mostly for aliens.

“I owe you one.”

Peter spun, slamming his locker shut and hitching his backpack on his shoulder. MJ stood there, close, but looking cool and composed and just… certain. Must be nice.

“Uh, one what?”

He quickly glanced around, taking in the surroundings and his girlfriend’s hands, in case this was an IOU of the ambush variety and she was about to mace him or drag him to a toilet and dunk his head in the bowl. It didn’t seem impossible that he’d crossed the line so hard and so far last night that MJ would feel vindicated enacting cruel and unusual vigilante justice. Peter’s eyes went back to her face, searching for a hint of imminent danger. But there was no fierce pre-attack gleam in her eye, like when she’d upended cranberry juice all over Flash. Peter was puzzled.

God, he should’ve known better. It must have been that MJ felt she’d embarrassed him by overhearing… what she’d overheard.

“Oh, no,” Peter quickly assured her, holding up a soothing hand that he couldn’t quite land on her shoulder. “You don’t have to tell me something embarrassing to, like, even the score.”

“What?” She gave him a sharp, confused stare.

“To… try to make me feel better?” he prompted, flushing. “Because that call was an accident? And mortifying?”

MJ rolled her eyes. Great show of sympathy.

“Come on.” She yanked the strap of his backpack and when Peter continued to hesitate, took his hand―with a little reluctance of her own, he thought. Which seemed fair.

Their palms kissed and the burning went from his face through the rest of his body; wildfire in a parched field. This was a very, very good sign. Touch was better than he’d hoped to achieve without some serious backpedalling and a repetitive, stumbling apology.

“You ok?” MJ checked as they exited the school.

“Fine,” came out of his mouth like a whispering rustle. His eyes were wide.

“You wanna walk me to the bus stop across the street? I’m meeting my mom at the hospital, bringing her h―”

“Yeah,” Peter said. He’d been ready to agree as soon as the first part started sounding like a sentence. Probably better to stay quiet about the fact that he’d say yes to anything MJ asked.

“Well,” she explained as they walked, “you were a little bit correct. But mostly wrong,” MJ clarified, giving Peter a taunting smirk. He sighed and dug his fingers into her ribs, making her shriek and flinch.

“So what was I right about?”

“I do want to even the score.” They awkwardly avoided each other’s eyes; MJ followed the line of the nearest tall building up while Peter mapped sidewalk cracks. “Holy shit, this is painful.”

Immediately, he was looking at her.

“What?”

MJ groaned. Peter noticed her reddened cheeks.

“I liked hearing you.” She met his eye. “I actually loved it. I want to repay you.” He was _extremely_ interested and she definitely saw that in his expression. “Not by doing the same thing you did, Parker, oh my god!”

“I’m not gonna say I’m not disappointed,” he admitted, mouth sneaking into a grin. You could say things like this to your girlfriend, whom you’d had sex with, right? Express desire?

She nodded a funny nod, sort of uncomfortable without it necessarily being in a bad way? That was what he was picking up.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

They’d arrived at her bus stop and a sudden silence. Peter didn’t want to be pushy, but she hadn’t exactly made everything clear.

“What did you mean then? About repaying me?” He was nervous, giddy, about catching her eye. Her hand felt so good in his.

“Uhhh… it’s something I was going to tell you about last night, but―”

“I interrupted you?”

“Just now you did.”

“Sorry.”

“Relax, loser.” She smiled at him and surprised him by facing him completely and linking the fingers of their free hands before leaning in, forehead on Peter’s shoulder. “My heart’s pounding,” MJ told him softly.

“You don’t have to repay me right away.”

She wouldn’t let go of his hands, so he had to wrap his arms around her with their fingers still interlaced, her arms folded loosely behind her.

“Ok.”

“But I will be charging interest.”

MJ jerked her head up and glared at him.

“Excuse me?”

He shrugged unconcernedly.

“Can’t tell you what it’ll be yet, but I’ll make sure it fits whatever this mysterious repayment is going to be. Here comes your bus.” Peter nodded in indication and MJ turned her head to look. She kissed his cheek before pulling away.

“This conversation has gone from bad to worse.”

“Better get out of here.”

She stepped close again and wriggled into as tight a hold as his backpack would allow, their faces brushing.

“Last night was _hot_ ,” she said lowly into his ear. Peter stiffened, rapt. “You can do that again, if you want. I’ll answer. Unless I’m asleep, in which case you better fucking not wake me up.”

MJ tilted back, grabbed his face, and kissed him soundly, Peter’s lips forming a smile partway through.

“Let’s do something normal. To take the pressure off.”

“Normal could be good,” he agreed. “I’m actually really fond of normal.”

“Ok, I’ll text you from the bus.”

He stood there as it zoomed past with her on it, getting a lungful of bus fumes, yet feeling remarkably revived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could this thing that MJ needs to tell Peter *possibly* be?


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, you lot that comment every week! I appreciate the time and effort you put into giving me a lil' motivation to keep working on this story! The longest fic (in terms of chapters) I'd written prior to this one maxed out at 22 chapters. Let me tell you, when you just write sentence-to-sentence like I do, with NO plot and NO plan, everything after 15 or so feels like walking into a wasteland. Post-25 and you're waiting for T.S. Eliot to come along and start chronicling. I thought this story was going to be a sprint and not only did it turn into a marathon, some days it feels like I'm not even wearing running shoes. I'm wearing, like, jellies or something.
> 
> ...Cannot believe I just referenced Eliot and jellies in the same paragraph. But you know what? ELIOT WOULD'VE BEEN INTO IT! "The Waste Land" is chock full of lowbrow shit.
> 
> Anyway, you commenters are a godsend and writing this would be apocalyptically terrible without you.

XXIV

The rest of the week was less stressful than Wednesday had been. Peter went out of his way to be near MJ during the day so that he could be far from his phone in the evening. Not that he thought he’d make the same mistake twice, but also… he had the potential to make the same mistake twice. It was too easy to imagine, what with his imagination pulling double shifts ever since he and MJ had slept together. While his mind wandered (every single time he saw her), his body remained under his control. In some ways; Ned had had to step hard on his foot to get his attention in class when Peter had dropped his pen (fumbled after spotting MJ walk past the classroom’s open door) and distractedly begun lifting the entire desk with one hand to look for it.

So Saturday was gonna be good. Really good. A good, blue-sky day for their casual plans. It felt weird and naked to walk around the borough without his suit nearby, so Peter stuffed it in his backpack first thing in the morning and trapped it with a swift zip. He killed the time between waking up and heading out by doing the homework he’d been assigned, and then the homework he suspected _would be_ assigned next week. And Peter took a hot shower, slamming his hips forward against the opposing motion of the fist he had wrapped around his dick, water running into his eyes and mouth. Logically, he knew he’d left his phone in the other room, and that the torrential noise of the showerhead (its spray was a little on the aggressive side) would’ve likely been enough to drown out… other sounds… but the thought of MJ overhearing him again did cross his mind. Well, it tried to cross. Then, his hormonal Dark Side bore down on it like a transport truck and flattened it to the asphalt of his psyche. Peter, panting in the shower, couldn’t get rid of the idea. Of being caught. By MJ. Except it wasn’t horrifying.

 _Why?_ Why was this happening? Because they’d gotten past the incident in reality? Because, unlike the other mega-important people in Peter’s life, MJ hadn’t discovered his secret by seeing him fully Spidey-suited in his bedroom? Had some quiet desire to have her catch him at something been lurking way under the larger desires that took up most of the space in the section of his mind labeled ‘MJ’? Maybe he just wanted her that badly. Man, these no-pressure plans were starting to feel suspiciously like high-pressure plans. Clearly, they were insane to attempt a normal date after that last date (had that been a date or a divine, post-mission encounter?). He was going to see MJ and immediately lose his mind and drag her back to his apartment like some kind of doofus caveman and just go after the release he’d felt with her that perfect first night together like it was the number one thing he needed to survive and it would be sweaty and wild and, and... Peter clenched his teeth and barely felt the strain in his jaw as he came.

His heart was pounding absurdly as he bent double to breathe, then gave up and slumped to a heap on the shower floor. Phew. On second thought, everything was fine and he could totally have a normal lunch with his amazing girlfriend. Wow, he should not drink coffee before his Cap’n Crunch. Peter scrambled out of the shower and went to get ready.

“It’s close,” he promised MJ, three-quarters of an hour later. He pointed with the hand not tangled in hers. “Right around the corner. There’s a kind of courtyard between these office buildings and that’s where they park the truck.”

The Mexican food truck was right where he’d said it would be (thank Thor, or else this might’ve been a record for how fast Peter could make himself look like an idiot in front of MJ). She nodded approvingly to him, face slashed by shade as they stepped between buildings.

“Not bad, Onesie-Man,” she said, keeping her voice down, though he would’ve felt the mockery at any volume and narrowed his eyes at her. “I guess finding good date spots is another one of your superpowers.”

Peter shrugged, secretly proud.

“I get around the neighbourhood. Does that mean you’re off the date-location-choosing hook forever?”

“If I am, it’s only because you enabled it.” MJ grinned and he rolled his eyes.

They ordered, grill heat and the biting scent of lime and hot peppers waving through the window like a delicious mirage. The two of them sucked soft drinks from cups of recycled paper as they waited; Peter lost the fight not to watch MJ chew her straw. When their food was handed through the partition, he insisted on grabbing hers as well as his own, so she wouldn’t burn herself on the steaming foil encasing it. She gave Peter a look, but let him.

There was seating on the benches―probably intended for the office workers these buildings held during the day. Peter tucked his backpack underneath, blocking it with his legs, and eyed MJ as she shifted and settled, her thigh rubbing his. Impulsively, he ran his hand over it, tracing the grain of the denim with his fingertips. They glanced at each other and MJ very obviously smothered a smile. Sighing contentedly, Peter set his drink down on his other side and unwrapped his lunch.

“Good?” he checked with her a few bites in. When she licked sour cream from the corner of her mouth, his heart bungee jumped down to his intestines before slowly climbing back into place. Foil compressed into a smooth sphere in his grip.

“Mhmm. This burrito is unreal and there were, like, ten more things on their menu I wanted to try.”

Peter nodded along, chewing and swallowing, foot jumping on the concrete pad of the courtyard.

“Cool, ‘cause I was thinking we should come back at night sometime. The lights…” He pointed above them at the strands that zigzagged between the buildings and MJ let her head fall back, craning her neck. “It would be romantic,” Peter mumbled, staring at the curling ends of hair that hung down her back.

MJ didn’t crush him with sarcasm. Actually, her face looked flushed. Her gaze lowered and darted around her lap. For a minute, her fingers fiddled with the foil, stripping it slowly from her burrito.

“Oh,” MJ blurted suddenly, making Peter look up at once. “Do you want a bite?”

She thrust her lunch towards him. Turning pretty red himself, he figured, Peter bit right next to the last bite she’d taken. He nodded, trying to convey appreciation for her choice as well as the quality of the food (seriously, what were all the spices in here? Amazing.) as she drew her hand back. They kept staring at one another. MJ laid her food cautiously in her lap and reached back, twisting her loose hair and dragging it over her shoulder. He really liked her eyes. And her cheeks, her cheeks were great. Her lips…

Peter felt a sinister prickle and whipped his head around. He huffed out an annoyed exhale and glanced back at MJ. Already, he was reaching for his backpack.

“What? _Oh_ ,” she hissed, “you can sense something’s going on?” Abruptly, MJ’s expression changed, eyebrows pinching close. “No. Not fair. Why can’t people do dumb shit during school hours? We’re on a date!”

He was frozen, half off the bench, genuinely considering whether or not he should go. MJ gave his arm a shove.

“Hurry up, Parker. I assume you’re on call. Isn’t that how this thing works?” Peter frowned, hesitating. “I get it,” she said earnestly. “Make it up to me later.”

Hastily, he yanked his backpack out and tossed the strap over his shoulder.

“Ok,” he muttered, assessing his girlfriend, his crumped napkins, and the half-eaten meal he was leaving. “Ok, I don’t know how long this will take.” MJ shrugged. “Uh, you can have some of my food, if you want, just don’t eat―”

“Don’t fucking say it,” she warned as the smirk snuck onto his face.

“―the whole enchilada.”

MJ groaned as Peter bounded away from her.

“You owe me extra for that!”

He gave her a thumbs up over his shoulder.

* * *

Peter wondered if there was a point at which his super-status would qualify him for a cool car. Not because he was crazy eager to drive; ever since the trial-by-fire behind the wheel of Flash’s dad’s ride, Peter had taken only the most timid baby steps in terms of his mastery (overstatement) of the automobile. It was just that a car―particularly a _fast_ car―would come in handy sometimes, like when he was barrelling south on a high-speed chase. Even the cops in their standard issue vehicles were looking pretty impressive, what with their sirens, and their matching fleet, and their ability to sit down during pursuit. Peter didn’t so much sigh as gasp for breath, shooting webs to catch the side of the transport going by in the fast lane before leaping from the top of the one he’d been piggybacking.

Fighting crime was way harder when everything around him was moving. The stability of skyscrapers and apartment buildings―heck, even streetlights―felt like a distant memory as traffic blew past and Peter fluttered like a leaf, swinging between vehicles. He would’ve taken height over speed any day of the week. There just wasn’t much choice when the criminals who’d been dumb enough to rob a Tiffany jewellery store with chainsaws (a noise that made it _real_ easy for civilians passing the shop to realize what was going on and get police on the scene ASAP) decided to floor it across the bridge and into New Jersey.

They were making it a challenge to maintain the ‘neighbourhood’ part of being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, but Peter guessed his trip to outer space had wrecked that specification first. He didn’t really have a set jurisdiction anymore; being an Avenger was kind of like Doctors Without Borders. Peter made a mental note to ask Dr. Banner (and maybe the wizard too, though he still found that guy pretty intimidating) if he ever thought of himself that way, then gagged as he swung through a thick stream of truck exhaust. Gross.

The truck he was on top of now was really keeping the pedal to the metal, so Peter sat contently with his legs crossed, glancing back over his shoulder to see the squad cars snarled in Saturday traffic. His truck was gaining on the getaway car, and with his keen vision, Peter watched perfect blue boxes go tumbling in the criminal’s back window as they made a swerving lane change.

“Peter,” Karen alerted him, “would you like me to have Michelle Jones’s call go straight to voicemail?”

“What? No, I can talk.” Peter propped his elbow on his knee, waiting eagerly to hear his girlfriend’s voice.

“Are you sure?” the suit lady pressed. “You should try to remain undistracted for optimal mission outcome.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he assured her, taking another look at the cop cars whose sirens were finally having an effect, clearing the center lane for them to ease ahead. “Everything’s under con―WHOA.” Peter dropped flat to his back as a directional sign nearly took his head off.

“Peter?!”

He laughed nervously. Great timing with the connection on Karen’s part. He’d have to talk to her about that later.

“Hey, MJ!”

“I assume I haven’t heard from you yet because you’re still out kicking butt.”

“Wow,” Peter grinned under his mask, “you assume I’m kicking butt?”

“That came out more complimentary than I meant it to.”

“No backpedalling!”

Seeing the getaway car make for the upcoming exit lane, Peter slipped over the side of his truck in search of his next move.

“Are you almost done though?”

Peter shrugged and went flying to land with a wobbling two-step on top of a U-Haul that was also leaving the freeway.

“Basically.” He watched the squad cars fall into line behind his selected chariot. “Sorry I messed up our lunch date.”

“I had a nice time before criminalus interruptus. Oh, and I took your leftovers home.”

He laughed.

“You were too full to eat my food there, so you brought it back to your place for later? That hurts.”

“No, dork. I took it to _your_ home and gave it to your aunt.”

This was slightly unnerving.

“You saw May?”

“We’re friends on Facebook.”

“You’re _what_?!”

“Yeah, she really likes me,” MJ said, sounding gloat-y. “More since I brought her delicious Mexican food.”

“Translation: I don’t have leftovers waiting for me because May’s already eaten them.”

“Hey, ratting on people is not my style.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be loyal to _me_?” Peter joked.

This U-Haul was really working out, turning down the same road the getaway car had taken.

“The food handoff was a calculated betrayal that will only help us in the long run because your aunt will love me and want you to spend more time with me. Speaking of…” MJ’s voice wavered higher.

“Uh huh?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to do something tomorrow, since today got cut short. You could, I don’t know, come over here, or something.”

“Bingo,” Peter muttered, snagging the getaway car’s bumper with webs from both wrists. He hauled backwards, putting on the brakes for them. Hopefully, it was gentle enough not to set off their airbags. That was always a pain.

“I was thinking we could do something not in the category of eighty-year-old lady pastimes.”

He shook his head.

“Not ‘bingo’ to you,” Peter tried to clarify, “‘bingo’ to… nevermind. I’ll explain later. Tomorrow. When I see you.”

“Or you won’t because we’ll be too busy having _plans_ to talk.”

The innuendo was loud and clear. Peter tore the bumper straight off the back of the car. Woops.

* * *

“My mom’s not here,” MJ announced as she opened the front door to let Peter in the following afternoon.

He wasn’t totally sure how he was expected to react to that―his eyebrows decided to take the lead on this one, floating up towards his hair.

“Oh.”

“That was supposed to put you at ease,” she hinted, waving him past her (she smelled good and Peter hoped he’d have a chance to bury his nose in the soft place under her jaw later). MJ shut the door. “Not sure it worked though.”

His heart raced under her bald scrutiny. Anxious, he tugged at the strap of his backpack. This drew her gaze.

“You brought the suit?” Disappointment slid over her face, which meant she must be _really_ disappointed, since she was actually letting him see it. Luckily, this was something Peter could fix.

He swung the backpack off and jerked it open to reveal binders, textbooks, and the stray, uncapped pens that were always bouncing chaotically around the bottom of his bag.

“Homework,” Peter explained, looking from the contents to MJ’s eyes. She laughed. “I thought I could offer you answers to next week’s assignments, or just another set of notes to check yours against. Something to make up for yesterday.”

“Did you get your bad guys?” she asked. Seemed like she wasn’t expecting him to barter and had chosen to ignore his attempt.

“Yeah, I, uh―I did.” Peter ran his hand awkwardly through his hair.

Her mouth widened in a quick smile.

“Good.”

The smile appeared again and held this time. Suddenly, MJ stepped close and kissed him on the cheek. He grabbed her hand as it slipped down his arm.

“Come on,” she said.

“Should I bring…?” He hoisted the backpack.

“Leave it,” MJ instructed. “This is not a homework date. You can save those for Ned.”

Peter flung his bag against the wall and let MJ guide him farther into the apartment. His gaze zipped around as she took him in a familiar direction, towards her bedroom.

“What are we doing?” He may have mentally had his fingers crossed.

“I’ve got something to show you, remember?” She pushed her half-open door wide.

Peter could feel himself grinning, though he tried to resist it.

“I know you basically said that it wasn’t you, uh, naked,” he faltered, “but you’re making it hard to believe that.”

MJ gave him a sly look, released his hand, and reached out to pat her bed, signalling that he should sit.

“You’re delusional,” she breezily informed him.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Peter breathed sarcastically and sat where she’d directed.

He watched her carefully, stalled a few feet from him, eyes unfocused with her index finger pushing her bottom lip between her teeth to chew. This couldn’t be _that_ big a deal, right? Like, if it was something bad, she’d be more obviously freaking out. Although, this was MJ, whose default was suppressing, or at least hiding, her feelings. _Dammit, Peter_ , he told himself when his thoughts drifted to _Star Wars_. _Stop thinking about the Jedi_. All he should do was relax. Give her space and a minute to think. Peter slid his palms backwards across her sheets (baby blue today―he kind of missed the yellow ones) and rested back on his braced arms.

“No,” MJ said abruptly. “You need your hands for this.”

She twisted away on her sock feet and Peter smiled widely, gaze falling to the seat of her jeans, left exposed by the hip-length crewneck sweatshirt she was wearing. MJ glanced at him.

“Jesus, Peter, it’s not what you think!” But a huff of laughter escape her.

He raised his hands submissively and straightened his posture.

“Prove me wrong then,” Peter goaded playfully. He hadn’t worn his watch, but he glanced at his wrist just to get under her skin. “I am _so_ charging interest on this repayment, babe.”

The endearment slipped out, part of his nerves, or excitement, or just the thrill he got from flirting with her. Sure enough, MJ was blushing. Peter jumped to his feet. If whatever she wanted to show him was making her this nervous, it could wait. He couldn’t. Not with her mom out and the various memories, feelings, stimuli, and other things contributing to Peter’s raging hormones.

MJ shoved him gently but steadily in the chest and Peter sat back, confused. Then, she presented him with a closed sketchbook, bent and smudged at the edges.

“There,” she declared, but it was a soft declaration made with a gawky jerk of her chin. “This, in exchange for what I heard over the phone. Now we’re even.”

Tucking her hair behind her ear, she stared Peter down. Peter, who was all of a sudden wary about turning the pages of a book.

“Ugh!” MJ groaned and flipped it open for him.

“This is me,” he blurted, studying a pencil sketch of himself in a hoodie he wore a lot. There were a ton of thoughts going through his head and Peter couldn’t really get a handle on any of them, beyond recognition of MJ’s obvious talent. He laughed in disbelief. “This is so good! How long have you been―”

“Not these ones, you dork.”

Radiating impatience, his girlfriend took her sketchbook back and started flicking through the pages so rapidly that Peter worried she’d get a papercut, which was stressing him out because he didn’t know where the Joneses kept their Band-Aids and disinfectant. MJ let out a forceful breath and rotated the book.

“These.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you started reading "Affinity War" when I posted chapter 1 on October 1st of last year, then you've probably been waiting for this very chapter since then, because I've had the "naked sketches" tag attached from the start.
> 
> AT LAST, SWEET RELIEF!

XXV

She’d broken him. She’d broken Peter. Would regular-people CPR work on him if he didn’t start breathing soon? MJ had always thought that being the daughter of a doctor would be an advantage, something she brought to a relationship―like people who were great at cooking or finding lost keys―but of course, she had to fall for the one guy at her school with fucking super DNA. Shit. Or maybe he could go ages without taking a breath. She guessed that was something she should find out for certain. Either way, it seemed like time to intervene because this nerd did _not_ get to screw up the one kind of mouth-to-mouth she was hoping for this afternoon.

MJ was a little bit tense.

Her throat felt too tight with anxiety to talk to him, so she started withdrawing the sketchbook. Peter’s face came with it and MJ was forced to stop, or else make him fall off the edge of her bed (which, in hindsight, would’ve been hilarious).

“Not done,” he mumbled.

And there went her hearing, fading out with a numbing buzz of adrenaline. At least he was breathing. This was a significantly better reaction than the one she’d been trying not to spend too much time dreading since the idea to show him her sketches had come to mind―a reaction that went something like, ‘What the FUCK, you pervert!’ So this, yes, this she would gratefully accept, as it didn’t look like Peter was building up to shouting, swearing, name-calling, or any combination of the three. Still didn’t mean MJ knew what her boyfriend was thinking. Cautiously, she glanced down from his face to the page she was holding open.

“There are more,” MJ quietly admitted. If she was gonna dig this hole for herself, she was gonna dig deep enough that scavengers couldn’t sniff out the body, dead from embarrassment.

She tried to grab the corner of the page, but her fingers kept quivering and slipping on the paper. Peter’s hand appeared, pulling hers away and linking it with his before his other hand reached up to flip to the next drawing. MJ didn’t know how many minutes went by in silence, watching Peter’s eyes scan every detail of the image in front of him and his mouth inhale breaths she couldn’t hear. Finally, he made a humming sound when―it looked like―he tried to speak while his lips were still pressed together contemplatively.

“How?” he spluttered out on his second attempt, face lifting to meet her eyes.

Confusing question, MJ felt like, seeing as she personally would have gone the ‘What the FUCK’ route herself.

“I’ve been learning you. A little bit at a time.” Peter was still staring at her, looking interested, and the nerd in her took over, eager to be credited for the hours of observation that had gone into perfecting (or working towards perfecting) his likeness. “Your hands were six months ago, when Mr. Harrington was quizzing us. You were sitting in front of me and you kept raising your hand to give answers, even though he said we could just call them out.” She was smiling gently to herself, studying the lines she’d drawn. “Knees to ankles were a couple months after that. We had a combined gym class and I watched you pull yourself up a rope to the ceiling.” Distractedly, MJ managed to turn another page of the book and traced the lines she’d uncovered. “Your back was during that warm week we got in the fall. I was watching you pack your books at your locker when Flash tried to yank the back of your shirt over your head.”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

She nearly jumped.

“God, I almost forgot you were here.”

“Oh yeah? Thought you were alone with this guy?” Peter smirked and tapped the drawing. MJ rolled her eyes though her face was turning red, she could tell.

“I swear, Parker, if you start making fun of me―”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. He took the sketchbook out of her hands (it took a second for her to loosen her grip on what had been her most private possession) and laid it on her nightstand, still open. “I’m not.”

The way he said it, so softly, seemed like a trap to draw her in. Or that was how MJ justified to herself the way she was so easily led forward to stand between Peter’s knees. He was clearly using his superhero wiles.

“How long have you been drawing me?”

“Well,” she started, sort of flustered, “obviously there are certain details there that I couldn’t have known before we had sex, so it should be pretty easy for you to date the sketches of us back to―”

“Not _us_ ,” Peter corrected. “Me.”

Oh. Uh oh.

“A while,” MJ said evasively. She took a deep breath and gathered herself. “How long have you been superhuman?”

A slow grin from the nerd with the abs of steel, or whatever they were making this model of Boy out of these days.

“A while.”

She exhaled in frustration, dodging the way he tried to take her hands. Those, MJ planted on her hips, but Peter pried them off and held them anyway. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“I am prepared to answer one question about the sketches for every question you answer about being Spider-Man. Since everyone’s secrets are on the table now. Deal?”

He dropped her hands so that he could extend just one of them to her. Oh, those honest brown eyes that made her such a sucker. She put her palm to Peter’s, expecting a businesslike handshake, and was tugged into his lap. The fact of suddenly being in his lap was actually less surprising than how little effort he’d seemed to put into bringing her there.

“Deal,” Peter agreed, chipper as fuck. MJ glared and allowed him to arrange her sideways across his thighs, their shoulders touching to form a 90° angle. Probably on purpose, knowing this math freak. “Did you want to start?” he asked innocently as she gave him nothing but dead air.

“Same question as before.”

It was no use trying to squint apathetically at him. The fact that her boyfriend could climb walls was more than mildly interesting.

“It’s been a couple of years now,” Peter said, nodding to himself. “Maybe I wasn’t doing anything huge before Mr. Stark, like, _discovered_ me, but waking up after accidentally falling asleep on the living room ceiling, or having to sit in my closet in the dark for an hour every day after school just to give my enhanced senses a break… that stuff was still pretty monumental.”

“Wow,” MJ breathed, beginning to picture it, “and―”

“My question,” he interrupted. A second later, his thoughtful expression was completely gone. “And it’s gonna be two parts because you tried to get an extra question in.” She sighed and propped her elbow up on his shoulder, waiting for him to continue. “How long have you been drawing me,” Peter repeated, “and what did you draw first?”

“What part of _you_ did I draw first?”

“Yeah.”

She leaned her head over onto her arm.

“Your eyes,” she whispered, because volume level somehow corresponded to embarrassment level.

Peter’s arm went around her waist, holding her against him.

“Which was when?” he prompted. His head turned slightly towards her.

Dammit. Breathe in, breathe out.

“The second I got home from school on the first day of freshman year. We had science together. I was at my desk when you came through the door, and your eyes…” MJ cut herself off. “They were… memorable.”

She glanced at Peter and, yeah, he was looking pretty self-satisfied, but that look was directed through those same warm eyes MJ had just wimped out and called ‘memorable,’ instead of alluding in any way to how she’d almost melted out of her seat―Wicked-Witch-of-the-West-style―that first day.

“I like your eyes too,” he told her.

“Great,” she replied tensely. Peter frowned.

“This was your idea. Is this not ok? The questions?”

MJ breathed out slowly, shaking her head, then nodding.

“You’re freaking me out.”

“The Spider-Man stuff?” He was really bad at hiding his hurt. She touched his face quickly, cupping his jaw.

“No. About my drawings.” MJ dropped her hand. “You’re pretty calm.”

Peter snorted and leaned his head sideways into hers.

“I’ve had bigger surprises.”

She was unconvinced.

“Yeah, but… nothing? Just a few minutes staring at them and you’re over it? I’m not trying to push you towards crippling shame or a rant about the sanctity of your privacy, it’s just… not much of a reaction.”

He let his head fall forward and laughed softly, excluding her from whatever it was he was finding funny. Before MJ could complain, Peter looked up, moving his face closer to hers than it had been before.

“You want my reaction? No downplaying?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Obviously.”

Peter jerked MJ snugly into him, not leaving her casually seated, but with the side of her hip against the front of his and the outside of her thigh against… Oh. Her face twitched. He cleared his throat with precious disquiet.

“Can we go back to the questions now that you’re convinced?” Peter’s warm hand on her cheek got her to meet his eye. “You’re convinced, right?”

“Is the suit doing the work, or is it you?” she said quickly, attempting to get a grip on her thoughts while her boyfriend’s erection pressed her thigh.

“The suit helps, but it’s me. My turn.” MJ’s heart was really pounding. Her door was shut and Peter smelled like Peter and she’d kinda been waiting for this. “How far does it go?”

“How far does what go?”

Peter grinned, looking down to her mouth and letting his nose skim her cheek.

“What you drew. Is it just drawings? Do those… get it out of your system?”

This was not fair. The _who, me?_ way he was looking at her in contrast to the answers he was fishing for was definitely breaking some sort of Ethics of Discussions. She should’ve established better rules when she came up with the back and forth questions thing. Had captaining decathlon taught her nothing?

“I’ve had dreams,” MJ said, tone borderline belligerent. “I know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s hand glided up her back, over her sweatshirt.

“Asleep dreams or awake ones? And I’m not doing anything.”

“Both. Yes, you are. This is the thing you do; you act progressively more harmless the worse you’re about to behave.”

“That’s really interesting,” Peter said sincerely. His mouth brushed across hers and the world felt small and theirs. “I think that sketchbook might be your best work.”

Veins flowing with lava, MJ spoke against his lips.

“I think you’re fucking biased.”

“I swear,” he said earnestly, as his hips rocked not subtly enough for her to miss, “I’m only fucking you.”

With a groan, MJ pressed hard into the kiss. Peter got handsy with her legs, palm roughly stroking up and down her thigh. If his chest hadn’t been so rigid from urgent horniness, she thought she might’ve been able to tip him onto his back. Her hands were buried in his hair when she got the idea to use his sexual trigger (calling him Spider-Man―which she’d kept carefully stored and labelled in her mind) to get into a position that was more like sex, but the second she opened her mouth, there was his tongue. The muscles between her legs clenched up.

“Save the dad jokes for your t-shirts,” she counselled, panting hot air when he let her breathe. Peter’s hand snuck under her sweatshirt, flat on the skin of her lower back.

“Gotta give you something to go after.”

“Everything I want to go after is on the pages of that book.” MJ unzipped his hoodie sharply. “And under here.”

Peter moaned and squeezed her against him as he kissed her, which was irritating, since she was trying to get him naked. His hand slipped up higher on her back and unhooked her bra.

“You’re going out of order,” she critiqued.

“As long as I’m working from more clothes to less clothes, the order doesn’t matter.”

Well, a little chaotic for her, but the logic was solid. MJ continued kissing Peter and managed to conquer his zipper. The first one.

“Do we have to go get, um, condoms from the bathroom?” Peter asked, head back and eyes closed as she kissed down his neck, shoving the sweatshirt off his shoulders.

“I keep some in my bedside table, since…”

“Right. Great.” Her arms got trapped when he raised the hem of her sweatshirt, but he removed it pretty fast. Her bra hung away from her ribcage, unclasped and unimpressed. “One more thing and then I’ll shut up,” Peter said.

“Doubtful,” MJ snarked, grinning as she began to clamber up from his lap.

“MJ.” He caught her waist to still her and did an admirable job of maintaining eye contact while her bra fell to dangle by its straps from the crook of her elbows. “I want you above me. Like in your first drawing.”

Ok. That was something worth hearing. Things grew a little wetter as her muscles reacted once more.

“Not the _first_ first one,” he babbled, becoming Peter again. “The first naked one. No, there’s a word for that. An art word.”

“Nude,” MJ supplied.

“Yeah, your first nude,” he replied, voice coming more slowly now that his request had been clarified. Their gazes danced.

“’K.”

After a second vibrating with giddy hesitation, MJ kissed Peter. He kept it slow as she moved from across his lap to astride it, straddling his thighs, hands mostly staying out of her way―except to gently guide her―until she tossed her bra away, which he must have felt. It was even possible that she’d made sure he’d felt it. Then, Peter’s hands were on her breasts. MJ breathed heavily, open mouth bumping his, as his light touch circled her nipples. She had the crazy thought that, if they’d been a car, they would’ve been fogging up the windows. The crazy part being that neither of them had a car―sex inside a car (should the opportunity present itself) seemed strangely, electrifyingly plausible. Peter was Spider-Man! MJ had shown him her collection of birthday suit portraits and he wasn’t seeking a restraining order! Most other things that could happen would not have the ability to surprise her.

She wiggled her hands up under his t-shirt and did her best to bend her fingers to the hot skin of his ribbed stomach. Peter really liked to be felt up, MJ was finding, and not just in the overtly dirty way. As her hands dragged north to his chest, he let out a small noise of satisfaction that just about turned her inside out. She followed the natural outline of his pecs and Peter stroked across her nipples with his thumbs.

“Only problem with this,” he huffed, eyes unashamedly _not_ on her face, “is I can’t get my pants off with you on my lap.”

MJ grinned superiorly, arrogant and aflame under his caress.

“I happen to be an excellent problem solver.”

“Are you?”

“Mhmm. It’s the main skill that recommended me as decathlon captain.” She was kidding, but they were looking at one another with expressions of grave, high stakes flirtation rather than two nerds sharing a joke. Or it could’ve been both.

“Really?” Peter groped her breasts fully in his palms. Someone was getting impatient, not that she minded. “I just thought you got the job ‘cause you’re smarter than the rest of us.”

MJ gasped.

“What was that?”

“I’m buttering you up,” he admitted with a smile, hips jerking slightly beneath her, though they weren’t pressed together well enough for it to do a hell of a lot of good for either of them. “I figure, the more you like me, the faster you’ll want to prove that you can get my pants off.”

“Even once I hear that I’m being manipulated?” Her eyebrows raised to hover judgmentally.

“Hey,” Peter argued, “me not having pants on would be to your benefit. And I’m banking on the you-liking-me part to offset the manipulation. Perceived manipulation,” he corrected.

“Uh huh.”

How unmoved MJ was trying to sound was probably cancelled out by the eagerness she displayed in yanking his t-shirt over his head. Oh well. She was no martyr. Plus, Peter’s _oh my god, she wants me_ face was pretty cute and generally worth provoking. She reached between them and twisted the button of his jeans open. Unzipped.

“Guess you’re lucky I like you a lot,” she said. She jerked with her chin. “Scoot back.”

Peter swung his legs up onto the bed and maneuvered around until he had his back to the wall. MJ crawled on her knees to keep above him, but she wasn’t saying no to the way he’d grabbed the underside of her thigh to lead her either.

“Can I, this time?” he checked, putting his hands on her hips, then holding them in front of the fastening of her jeans.

Her heart was pounding as she glanced down at his hands and absorbed the fact that, minus their lower halves being clothed, this was looking a lot like the first sketch she’d drawn of them. Kudos to her horny, possibly kinky, superhero. MJ gave him the go-ahead with a nod.

Once her jeans were open―and she’d swatted away Peter’s fingers, lingering on the triangle of striped underwear he’d revealed by lowering her zipper―MJ slid back on her knees. Her boyfriend looked bereft. She tugged lightly on the leg of his jeans in explanation.

“Lift your butt,” MJ commanded.

Not much of a strain for a guy who could do god knew what with those muscles, but that didn’t lessen her enjoyment when Peter braced his fists on her mattress so that his arms went tight with definition.

“MJ?”

Oops, she was staring at him. She inhaled to collect herself, then leaned forward to kiss him. Peter was an eager recipient of her affections. He kept himself up like that, suspended on fists and heels, and MJ laid her palms on his denim thighs. Very gradually, she brushed her hands towards his hips. Only when she’d entangled her tongue with Peter’s did she slip her hands under his waistband and begin divesting. He sighed and sunk back to the bed. MJ drew away, taking his jeans with her, then returning for his boxers and snatching them down his legs as well. She sat back as he toed the socks from his feet.

Naked and, in expected Peter Parker fashion, blushing hard, he stared at her expectantly. This was… this was going to be different. He’d basically seen her body, but now, if she was on top, he was going to see her body the _whole time_ they were having sex? Why had that seemed like such an easy thing to agree to? MJ crossed her arms awkwardly, sort of obstructing his view of her breasts without categorically hiding. Seemed like he got the hint because Peter glanced away, saw the sketchbook still lying on her nightstand and made an entire dorky show of noticing it and picking it up for inspection. She rolled her eyes, yet sat, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and worked her jeans and underwear down her legs as surreptitiously as she could, considering they both knew what she was doing.

MJ poked his leg, just below the knee, and shifted towards him again. Peter made eye contact, then darted his gaze from the page in front of him, to her, to the page. Still staring at her drawing, he bent his knee, trying to get the angle right. It filled her with trepidation.

“It doesn’t have to be perfect,” she said, unsure whether her words were a plea or a demand as they left her mouth. She pulled a curly strand of her hair over her shoulder, twisting her fingers in the end.

Peter smiled and set the Night Pad back on the table.

“It’s already perfect.”

MJ pushed his knee down so that she could stretch to kiss him. He cupped the back of her head, then scooped both hands into her hair.

“Condom?” she asked, still outrunning that anxious feeling. It seemed to have gotten tripped up in Peter’s smile and tackled by his words, but MJ was cautious.

“Just come over here,” he requested.

His hands grasped her arms as she moved to sit closer, then gave up with a cleansing sigh and just straddled the guy. She kept her seat around his mid-thigh, which was about as neutral as naked straddling got, MJ figured.

“Here good?”

“Here’s great.”

And Peter guided her mouth back to his. Everything was alright; this was Peter. MJ’s hands landed on his shoulders and squeezed gently. His hand caressed up and down the back of her neck. Slowly, they brought each other closer, MJ drawing his shoulders forward in a protective curve and Peter dropping his other hand to the middle of her bare back. She reintroduced her tongue to his mouth and he made a hungry noise; her skin prickled and sang. Then Peter ran his palm down to her ass and all hell broke loose. Relatively speaking. Super-nerd had doubtless seen more dramatic shit than this.

Something in MJ’s brain said he was going to grab her, making her body pre-empt that movement by jerking forward on its own to press her hips into his. Which mostly but didn’t completely work because Peter’s cock was there and, and, and ready, and requisitioning space by pressing into her abdomen, since hers was significantly more yielding than his. Which caused Peter himself―the rest of Peter, mainland Peter, Peter proper―to jump and freeze before seizing her ass like he meant business and rubbing himself against her. Which made MJ instinctively tilt her hips in an attempt to get her clit in on some of this action (‘Seeking a Friend for Spontaneous Adventure,’ her clit’s ad in the personal column would read). Which set Top MJ loose, about whom Everyday MJ would’ve warned Peter, had she known of her existence.

“What do you want?” this supremely confident version of her asked. Her tone of voice made Peter swear. That was a nice accent to the symphony of senses building up in and around MJ. The way they were grinding into each other was a steady constant that she was actually fairly certain wouldn’t be steady very long because it felt too good to sustain.

Peter’s hand shot out for the bedside table, making short work of a condom’s wrapper before he interrupted their frenzied rocking to glove his erection.

“You,” he breathed hotly, gripping her hair. “God, M, just you.”

She scrambled onto her knees and eased into the least neutral part of his lap. Peter’s hand was shaking as he lined himself up.

Sinking down wasn’t as simple as MJ had thought it would be. He hadn’t helped her stretch around his fingers beforehand, so she was tight. At least she was wet―spectacularly wet from being psychologically turned on by the thought of them recreating her art. That probably said something disturbing and narcissistic about her, but MJ didn’t care because Peter’s touch on her breasts was so teasing and her determination to fit their bodies together like Lego (far too much time eavesdropping on Peter and Ned’s conversations) was so strong that it was happening. And it felt _good_.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Peter spat out as her body slowly and snugly accepted him. “Feels like you’re swallowing me whole.”

“Something to try another time,” she joked before she could stop herself. Jesus, where was her self-discipline? Apparently that was something Top MJ had traded in during a Build Your Own Bedroom Persona, swapping control of herself for control of Peter. Not that she really wanted to _control_ Peter, but… MJ made a hasty study of his flushed face, the tortured crimp of his eyelids. He certainly had the look of someone being controlled. She saw that look a lot when she drew people in detention―a variation of it at least, definitely not _this_ look. There was no sign of suffering here, besides the temporary kind that Peter could probably endure and possibly welcomed.

MJ circled and experimented until she was able to slide her hips down to meet Peter’s, likely putting him through the wringer in the process.

“Lie back,” she told him, rubbing his chest. Peter reclined into the wall. “All the way back.”

“That’s not like the picture,” he said, looking a little too happy to be complaining.

“We did the picture. It’s static. I want to move, Peter,” MJ insisted, swinging her hips forward and back gently to illustrate.

His hips snapped to hers, accompanied by a dirty grunt from his barely parted lips. Now _that_ was a sound she hadn’t known he was capable of. Her muscles tensed and she bore down hard, even though she had nowhere to go.

“Yeah, ok,” Peter said, the two of them suddenly having to catch their breath. “Good idea.”

“Do that again when you get down there,” she requested, releasing out a long shaky exhale.

He nodded and wriggled flat to the mattress. There were numerous current events MJ was against, but the way this change in positions jostled her was not one of them. She leaned forward, hands back on Peter’s chest, and played with the tilt of her hips until they both groaned.

“I like this so far,” he confessed, staring up at her like there was some kind of angelic glow around her head. MJ smirked deviously.

The media had tried to whisper in her ear (and scream in her face) that sex was normal and natural and basically unavoidably intuitive for a man. She didn’t get what all the backslapping was about; she’d put her body on top of Peter’s and it knew what to do. Playing field levelled.

MJ rode Peter with containment at first, not in any rush, because this was new and they’d evidently both forgotten about her imperative for him to thrust sharply up into her. And then he remembered.

“Holy shit,” she gasped. She could still feel his thrust. It was like a buzzer’s hum, rippling endlessly after the beginning had ended.

“Too mu―?”

“Shush! I’m sorry,” MJ added immediately, hips still rolling as though daring Peter’s to react. Her heart felt like it was sitting unusually high inside her chest. Maybe trying to choke her with the energy it was ready to expend. “Wasn’t too much. More sex, less talk.”

Peter gave a gut-punch groan when she began an intense pace out of nowhere. What? She’d said more, she was damn well going to do more. Being on top was awesome! She rose and fell on him, not shy about using his chest or abs for leverage. He was obviously trying to behave himself and let her have this; his fingers wrapped around her wrists and flinched whenever she slammed her hips down especially forcefully.

“Don’t be a hero, Parker,” MJ taunted, high on the unwavering rub of his dick over her g-spot.

He scrunched his mouth up and eyed her carefully, taking the long route to her face. The one that started at their hands, went to the slick joining place, and swooped up her torso, his erection throbbing inside her to let her know exactly how he felt when he stared at her like this. He freed her wrists and grabbed her hips.

MJ smiled to herself, lowering her gaze, then clenched her fingers more firmly against his stomach and started a ferocious rhythm. Peter, always eager to assist, guided her up and down, back and forth until guiding became pushing and pulling and Top MJ got suspicious of a potential loss of authority.

“Hey,” she warned, “I’m still―”

“Shush.”

His eyes lifted to her face and he grinned at her, skating his fingers from her hip to her abdomen, then down to flick her clit. On second thought, she might let him have this one. He drilled into her from below and did an impressive job of keeping his fingertips on her clit despite the increasing wildness of their movements. Now MJ was bracing against his chest for the very practical need for stability. Her legs were burning and on the verge of the kind of cramp no one who doesn’t participate in team sports rightfully deserves to get, but she kept moving on him, moaning openly when she didn’t have the spare energy to bottle it up.

“Can I talk?” The formless moans were not enough.

“If it’s my name,” Peter replied.

It was supposed to a joke, she assumed, but his expression was focused: serious and desperate. Which kind of turned her on, seeing Peter look like that. Her muscles clenched and her boyfriend thrust and pushed and pulled, everything faster.

“ _Peter_ ,” gusted out from her mouth and then she imploded, everything tense and collapsing inwards. A black hole of bliss. Impossible science, like Peter was impossible science.

She was held and rolled and laid flat on her back so quickly that it might’ve stirred up some motion sickness had her brain and her vision not been softly hazy as her pleasure stretched like it didn’t want to get out of bed. Peter’s quick bucking helped draw the feeling out, ensuring MJ was warm and satisfied when he finished with a burst of exhalation. For some reason, he’d been holding his breath since flipping her under him. He dropped flat on top of MJ.

“You’re going to crush me,” she lied quietly, greedily hugging him and smoothing her hands across his back.

“I have a crush on you too,” Peter mouthed into her neck.

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant,” he argued, raising his head to smile at her. His brown eyes fucking sparkled.

Dammit. He wasn’t wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Three nerds enjoy an American pastime. Also, matchmaking?


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's it going this evening? Are we enjoying our first week of Spring? I hope so. Alright, enough chat.
> 
> Who doesn't love Ned? I love Ned, you love Ned. Let's have some more Ned in this story! Also, good-natured scheming between our favourite couple.

XXVI

Peter went to MJ like he was a boomerang she’d skillfully thrown; it was as if he couldn’t help returning to her. He barely noticed the swarming current of his peers as he made his way to where she stood at her open locker. Monday might not have seemed like the most festive day for a football game, but everybody was prepared to be filled with school spirit if it got them the afternoon off (on the expectation that they’d sit in the stands and cheer for the right side).

“Hey,” Peter said, shoving his hands shyly into the pocket of his hoodie.

MJ turned immediately.

She smiled. She had her hair pulled up and folded over into a bun on top of her head. There was a sleek blue pen snarled in there near the elastic, making the whole artist-at-the-ready look far from contrived. Likely, MJ had forgotten the pen was there. Peter felt good, starting to know her tricks, quirks, and tickings.

His face fell as she smoothly extracted the pen and prodded the end of it sharply into his chest, making the nib click in and out.

“Hi,” she said with a smirk.

Peter rubbed his chest melodramatically while his girlfriend dropped her pen into the backpack she appeared to be packing.

“You’re going to the game, right?”

“Of course.”

“Why ‘of course’?” He laughed. “Have I somehow missed your huge football-watching hobby?”

“‘Of course’ because, from your tone and manner, it seems like _you’re_ going. So obviously I’m going with you.” Her cheeks turned red surprisingly fast. She kept her eyes down and gave her bag a harsh zip to close it.

“You don’t have to.”

“I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,” MJ said sarcastically, meeting his eye from the corner of hers. They shared a brief laugh.

“I’d be really happy if you came,” Peter told her, stepping closer and leaning into the door of the locker next to hers.

“I know.”

Her eyes were drawing him in. Nobody’s eyes were supposed to look that gorgeous under institutional fluorescents. MJ’s were pennies in a wishing well. His hand was on her hip, casually testing the texture of the denim. Instead of doing something to put a stop to this behaviour that she might see as in opposition to her ongoing efforts to fade into the background (like the bad mural in the north hallway that everybody had basically just gotten used to and forgotten about), she dumped her backpack in the bottom of her locker, caught his eye, and very deliberately looped her thumbs together to walk her fingers up his arm in the style of the Itsy Bitsy Spider.

“Very funny.”

She nodded, clearly self-satisfied over her joke, but silent. Drawing, drawing, drawing him in. Peter hardly breathed, sliding his hand from her hip up to her back. Her dove grey Henley tried to drag up with his palm and how he felt about that made him realize he was in trouble. He stared at her lips. Serious trouble.

MJ angled herself so―Peter guessed―it would reasonably give the impression that she was concentrating on the inside of her locker and only sort of paying him attention. One side of their hips touched. Peter edged closer, pulse in his ears like the roar from a shell. That magical childhood telephone with a direct line to the ocean.

“Every time I’m with you,” he whispered, dying to kiss her cheek, “I want to…”

“I want to too.”

Her hands gripped hard around his arm, then she kissed him quickly on the mouth. When she pulled back, she gave him a look that he hoped was _don’t get me started here, or I won’t be able to stop_. The look changed slightly and the addition was easier to interpret: _And neither will you. Idiot_.

“If we’re going to the game, I have to grab a book from the library first.”

Peter frowned and retreated slightly to clear the air of their lust so that MJ could pay attention to closing her locker and spinning the lock in what looked like a very particular way. He cherished her little rituals, and the fact that he got to witness them.

“For homework?”

“For pleasure.” She kicked the toe of his sneaker. “Pleasure _reading_ , pervert.” So, he’d been giving her a look. Crap. Heat climbed Peter’s neck.

“During the game?”

MJ’s expression communicated that this should’ve been super obvious.

“How else am I going to sit through over an hour of football?” She started to stroll away from him and he trailed her to the intersection of hallways.

“By spending time with me?”

She sighed compassionately.

“It’s just that I also had plans to spend time with Ruth Ozeki.”

“That’s… an author.” He was fairly confident in his guess (because he couldn’t think of anyone in their circle of acquaintances with that name). MJ took mercy and smiled at Peter in acknowledgment. “You don’t want to… I don’t know… draw?”

This was a deliberate attempt to get more seconds with her.

“At the game? Peter,” she chastised with a smirk, “you know I do my best work in private. I’ll find you out on the bleachers.”

MJ darted around the corner. Peter nearly tripped fighting his body’s automatic inclination to follow her.

“You guys are revolting.”

He jumped. Glared at Ned who was standing there as the hall traffic thinned, flowing to the exits.

“Thanks.”

Ned sighed and they began to walk.

“Sorry. I’m just jealous. I need more in my love life than watching _Downton Abbey_ and fangirling over Tony Stark with you.” He sighed again. “It’ll pass. Let’s go watch the sports and do the wave and see if our butts freeze before halftime on those stupid bleachers. I swear they secretly make them colder on purpose.”

“They?” His best friend was up and down since his mini-breakup from Cindy. Peter could only be patient and humour the latest conspiracy theory. “The administration? The other team?”

“Well,” Ned’s eyebrows raised, “I’m not saying aliens, but…”

Yeah, he was saying aliens. Peter held the door for him and they stepped outside into a blur of school colours.

* * *

“Woo!” MJ cried weakly, about ten seconds after the crowd’s exclamation had faded out. Peter looked fondly at her while her head was down, almost completely absorbed in her book.

“You don’t even know what happened,” Ned accused from the other side of Peter. Peter frowned at him for the testy tone. His best friend met his stare. “Well, she doesn’t.”

“Sure I do,” she argued, turning a page and chasing the sentence over to the next one with her eyes. “We got points.”

Ned huffed, fidgeting.

“It might’ve just been a great catch.”

“Nah.” MJ was holding firm, expression looking like she couldn’t care less. “They don’t cheer as loud for those. I’m very observant.”

“She’s very observant,” Peter agreed, nodding frantically at Ned to back his girlfriend up.

“Yeah,” Ned sighed in defeat. “You’re right. MJ’s probably getting more out of this experience than I am.”

“She’s here for me,” Peter bragged cheerfully.

MJ glanced up for the first time in the quarter. She narrowed her eyes, assessing Peter.

“Hmm.”

His eyebrows lifted in nervous anticipation.

“What?”

“Just trying to decide if you pull off smug,” she explained. Abruptly, she returned to her book.

“And when am I going to get the answer?” he asked after almost a minute went by. Crap, now he wasn’t watching the game either, he was watching MJ. Oh well, Ned could fill him in later.

“When I’ve gathered enough information to make my decision,” his girlfriend mumbled, chin cupped in her hand now.

“What kind of information?”

“Other instances of you looking smug.”

“Do those happen often?” He didn’t think so.

“No,” MJ confirmed. “We might have to interfere with the experiment. Orchestrate opportunities for you to end up smug.”

Peter was still puzzled.

“What would I be smug about?”

She gifted him with another glance.

“A good performance usually does the trick.” MJ gave him a slow, deliberate wink, and went back to reading.

“A good performance?!” Ned blurted, tuning back into their conversation like it was a radio station he’d lost and found again. Peter gave him a look, seeing that his best friend’s attention was totally on the field. “That interception was inexcusable! WHOSE TEAM ARE YOU ON?”

Apparently, he was screaming at their quarterback. Peter grabbed the back of Ned’s jacket before he could stand up and really start venting on the innocent (maybe not innocent of a poor pass attempt, but innocent in other ways) players.

“Relax, Ned.” Peter was worried some sort of hired football team security would appear and make them leave. Lying low had been his modus operandi for too long. It was startling when Ned drew attention to them.

A few rows down, Flash stood up and began yelling back at Ned while Peter rolled his eyes. As his gaze went from the entitled pain in the neck to his guy in the chair, Peter noticed someone else watching their dumb argument. Or maybe not so much the argument as just Ned, because she was looking at him with an admiring kind of smile. Well, that was interesting. Peter released Ned to let him rant (Flash’s dumbassery made him pretty bulletproof to run-of-the-mill squabbles and draining some of his frustration would be good for Ned―therapeutic) and turned to MJ, crowding into her and giving her thigh a light pat.

“Hey,” he hissed. “Is Betty into Ned?”

“Sisters before misters,” MJ protested dryly.

“ _Please_ tell me,” Peter begged. “I know you know and, if I’m right, Ned will never notice on his own.”

She stuck her finger in her book and glanced up at him, shaking a loose strand of hair out of her face.

“What was that?”

“Ned will never n―”

“Nope, middle part,” she requested.

Peter thought back. He sighed.

“I know you know whether or not Betty’s into Ned.”

This girl was surprisingly fond of flattery for someone who’d lived a fairly solitary existence at this school until the year before.

“I do know,” MJ agreed. She crossed her legs and bounced her foot.

Peter stared back at her, determined to get this information for Ned, Ned’s sanity, and his own. He owed this to Ned since a portion of his former Ned time was what had become MJ time. His best friend needed somebody reliable, somebody he could talk to and hang out with, to prevent him from becoming crabby, _Downton Abbey_ Ned.

“I just wanna… push him in the right direction,” Peter offered, complete with hand gestures. He looked again between Ned, Betty, and Flash.

“Yeah,” MJ conceded, “she’s into him.”

“So you’re pretty impressed that I noticed, right?” he gloated. “You’re not the only one who’s observant.”

“I’m beginning to lean towards you pulling off smug. Don’t get cocky though.”

“How am I being cocky?”

Her eyes gave him a careful stare.

“How long would you guess Betty’s been interested?”

Peter, eager to prove himself, glanced at the expression on Betty’s face. He thought he’d seen her give a supportive look not too different from that one to any member of the decathlon team. Yes, she’d been observing Ned for several minutes while he lost his mind on the bleachers, but she wasn’t joining the conversation or coming up here to sit with him.

“Not that long? A week?” MJ’s smirk was there and gone again. “Fine,” Peter said, annoyed. “What’s your guess?”

“Three to four weeks, though I’d bet on closer to four. I saw the look on her face in Physics when Cindy was talking about going to the dance with Ned. Now, the look wasn’t exactly pure, possessive rage, which takes longer to develop, so the crush is decently new. But, there were subtle changes to the look each subsequent time she glanced at Cindy, meaning the crush was crossing that line between something you can talk yourself out of and something that’s definitely going to consume your every waking thought.”

“Oh.”

“It’s possible that Betty’s just good at keeping a lid on the rage shit, but even if that’s the case, she would’ve done something about the crush if it’d been over a month. She’s very self-possessed,” MJ noted.

“I-is this how you felt?” Peter stammered, not forgetting that it had taken a little while for their own relationship to move past the secret-crushing stage.

“If I didn’t adore Liz,” she said fiercely (he knew she was telling the truth), “well…”

He nodded, not wanting to know what could have followed the ‘well.’ MJ seemed happier not to voice whatever horrible thoughts she’d entertained for her one-time rival.

“Sisters before misters,” Peter echoed, haunted.

“Right. On that note.” She raised her voice. “You ever miss it?”

He had no idea what was going on.

“Miss what?”

MJ pointed at the sidelines where the freshman band members were clustered, ready for a trial-by-fire halftime performance.

“Marching band. AKA, the only extracurricular at this school you could’ve joined that’s nerdier than decathlon.”

The shouting coming from Peter’s other side stopped.

“You realize you just insulted the club you’re the captain of,” Ned pointed out as he sat back down. Peter glanced from his best friend to his girlfriend. She was doing something, he just didn’t know what yet. For right now, she shrugged. “And Peter was _awesome_ in marching band. He kicks ass on the trombone.”

MJ squinted.

“Is that something to brag about?”

“Knowing an instrument is a skill!” Ned shot back. Peter smiled. Kinda nice to have his buddy arguing for him instead of at him.

“Let’s get another opinion,” MJ suggested. She cupped her hands around her mouth. “Hey, Betty!”

The girl turned and looked around until MJ waved at her. “Come up here a sec, we need your opinion on something!”

Peter caught his girlfriend’s eye.

“Not bad,” he said quietly.

“Yeah, well, sisters before misters, but you before everybody. This is what you wanted.”

His heart felt like it had just been kicked through the uprights, but MJ didn’t give him time to reply.

“Hey,” she greeted Betty, who’d just climbed the stairs to their spot, “you’re still in marching band, right?”

Betty looked confused. She also looked at Ned. Meanwhile, MJ hoisted the leg nearest Peter across his lap. This was new.

“Yeah, I play flute.”

“Cool. Sit down.”

Betty took in Peter and MJ’s cozy seating arrangement before her eyes fell on the place beside Ned.

“Can I sit here?” she asked him, lifting her hand to tuck hair behind her ear, even though she was wearing a headband.

Peter looked at MJ. She grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two compelling reasons to come back next week: the decathlon team gets a surprise and May tries to give her nephew A Talk.


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ever so much to Thorongil82, Waltersobcheit, neumann, Anndy18, tvfanatic97, Fer, Soonersgirl86, Ashley_Bolton, geekintheblack, ReadMaster15, Grimmly, Guest, and AnarchyRules for last chapter's comments! Very appreciated!
> 
> Now, a chapter for those of you who've been wondering what May might have to say about Peter's developing relationship. Oh, and the decathlon stuff, which will be providing a nice backdrop as we move into the final phase of this story. I haven't finished writing "Affinity War" yet, but I do know the last couple of marks I'm trying to hit. Shall I just update the chapter counter when I know how long it's going to be (e.g. if this were the final chapter, it would read 27/27)? Alternately, I could give you a warning when we're two chapters (or one, or whatever) from the end? Anyway, opinions welcome. A couple of people have reached out on Tumblr recently to ask questions about this story and possible future Spideychelle work. As ever, find me at username "forasecondtherewedwon"!
> 
> Enjoy!

XXVII

“Right,” Mr. Harrington began when everyone had claimed a seat in their usual practice room. “I know we’ve rejigged things since the change in command to allow for more ‘independent leadership’ from the captain―” A glance at MJ. Peter smiled to himself. “―so you’re probably wondering why you’re seeing my face today. Well, first let me say that I’ve been very pleased to hear about your continued upward progress and good group cohesion, which I’ve been informed of in emails… though I did say that you could speak to me in person, MJ. You know when my prep period is.”

Next to Peter, MJ shrugged.

“Emails are more efficient,” she answered dispassionately. “I can send my decathlon reports between retweeting Michelle Obama and crucifying misogynistic trolls in the comments section of the online feminist newspapers I subscribe to.”

“Yeees,” Mr. Harrington said uneasily (probably taken slightly aback by MJ’s nonchalant use of the word ‘crucify,’ if Peter had to guess), “I see your point.” He pepped up and nodded approvingly. “Good sense of time management, MJ.”

“Thank you,” she acknowledged, settling back into her seat with her arms crossed when it looked like he was done addressing her specifically. Peter rolled his eyes and stuck his hand out across the gap between their desks. She reached out in return and took it, deftly interlacing their fingers.

“Just a little housekeeping then,” Mr. Harrington went on, “since I know your captain has already circulated multiple missives on the subject. The Cleveland competition is drawing nearer. Due to an, um, unfortunate mistake on the original permission forms, I have corrected copies for you all. Would you please pass these around?” he requested softly of Betty, who sat near the front. “Let’s say by Friday you’ll get them back to me with the signature of your parent or guardian. I also require the second half of your payment if you haven’t gotten that to me yet.”

May had been uncomfortable when Mr. Stark had called and insisted on paying for the trip; the competition was something Peter had chatted to (at) Happy about, which Happy had decided to pass on to his employer. His aunt had lectured him about school expenses being _her_ responsibility and how her nephew should maybe make his life easier by keeping the academic and the ass-kicking parts separate. It was pretty pointless because Tony had already written the cheque. Anyway, Peter was way past feeling weird about Mr. Stark bankrolling things. What was a decathlon trip to Cleveland when he’d previously spent however many hours constructing state of the art Spidey suits for him?

“… and finally, I have what you’ve all been waiting for!” Mr. Harrington announced. “Finalized itineraries!”

With a grin Peter watched Ned perk up. Ned loved a plan. Itinerary, scheme, plot, schedule―call it what you would, Ned was all about the details. It was why he always asked so many questions.

“Pass those out as well?” Mr. Harrington handed the itineraries to Betty as the permission forms reached Peter and MJ. “We’re departing on a Friday and returning Monday morning. No, you will not be excused from your afternoon classes, so make sure to get enough sleep Sunday night and/or Monday morning on the bus.”

Flash groaned, completely expectedly. Peter didn’t know whether it was for the bus, the recommendation of a good night’s sleep, or mandatory attendance, but he wasn’t shocked regardless. Being in a room with Flash for more than five minutes without hearing him complain would’ve been stranger than a lot of things Peter had experienced.

“Now, it was a little touch and go for a while with the planning,” Mr. Harrington explained, “but I’ve worked out that, as long as we win our first three mini-contests in the round robin on Saturday morning, we’ll be qualified for the semi-final on Sunday. This would give you Saturday afternoon and evening off and, while I’d be thrilled to find out you spent that time on revision, a favourite student of mine once informed me that ‘a rebellious group activity the day before competition is good for morale.’ So. I cancelled our museum passes and purchased tickets to Cedar Point.”

The strength of their cheer might’ve pissed another teacher off, but Peter knew Mr. Harrington liked to make them happy. Probably mentally banking those moments to balance against the next time something went horribly, lethally wrong, but… Peter chose to enjoy it.

“I’m gonna ride rollercoasters ‘til I puke,” Ned informed him with a crazy smile.

MJ tugged Peter’s sleeve.

“We are so not letting that happen.”

He nodded in agreement when Ned looked away, chattering excitedly with Abe.

“Nice work getting yourselves to this stage, everyone,” Mr. Harrington congratulated. “I hope this helps you stay motivated during the final stretch.” Awkwardly, he raised his hand and pumped his fist.

“Thanks, Mr. Harrington,” chorused out of sync behind him as he exited the room.

Peter shifted in his seat, facing MJ and tightening his hand around hers so she wouldn’t get up to start the practice just yet.

“Are you gonna go on rides with me? And be my theme park buddy? And let me hold your hand all day?” he teased. The eagerness behind that was probably obvious to both of them.

“Will I be given a choice?” she asked with the beginnings of a smirk.

“Nope.” Peter leaned over and kissed her cheek.

* * *

“Would you sit still?” May requested, not looking away from the documents Peter had brought home. “How am I supposed to keep track of you in Cleveland when I can’t even keep track of you in the apartment?”

He quit strolling around the kitchen swinging his arms and pulled out a chair, straddling it backwards to face May across the table.

“There aren’t any chaperones going,” Peter quickly reminded her, tapping the permission form. “Besides Mr. Harrington.”

His aunt glanced up with an amused smirk.

“Relax, Peter. I’m not trying to volunteer to accompany you. I more meant…” She waved her hand like she was ushering the words over to herself. “… keep track of you by text. You let me know when you get there, how your hotel room is, if you see any aliens. You know, our usual checklist.” May gave him a conspiratorial wink.

“Of course.”

She returned to reading the forms. Peter drummed his fingers on the back of the chair.

“So…” May started, very casual. “MJ’s going to Cleveland too, I assume.”

“Yep, she’s still in decathlon.”

“You’ve been seeing a lot of her lately.”

Immediately, he reframed this innocent observation to mean he’d seen a lot of MJ’s _skin_. Peter tightened his lips reflexively and hoped his nod didn’t look suspicious. His aunt didn’t say anything, just slid the permission form aside and moved on to perusing the itinerary.

“You have to sign it!” he reminded her impatiently.

“And I will, as long as everything on here looks good.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“What are you expecting to see? Bad guys don’t get in touch with the school and go, ‘We’d like to schedule the illegal operation that’s going to disrupt your field trip for Saturday. What time can you give us between 1:30 and 3:45?’”

“Jerks,” she griped.

“I know. I always think they should try to be a little more thoughtful,” Peter joked back.

“Well, don’t lose sleep over it. The criminal is a selfish beast.”

“Wise.”

“Thank you.” May slid her glasses up into her hair and met Peter’s eyes with a smile. “This looks fun. Gonna be a good trip, huh?” She splayed her elbows on the table.

“Yeah, the better we do, the more time we’ll have at the park.”

“Pretty crafty plan to keep you guys motivated. Gotta hand it to that Mr. Harrington.”

“He’s a nice guy,” Peter offered.

His aunt made a drawn out affirmative noise that raised his suspicions. What was going on?

“So, MJ,” she finally said.

 _Relax_ , he told himself.

“Uh huh?”

“Things are… good?”

“Oh yeah.” Peter couldn’t help grinning. “She’s-she’s great. We really, uh, get along well. And Ned too, MJ gets along well with Ned.” He couldn’t shut up. The back of his neck might be sweating. “So that’s… good,” he trailed off.

“Good. How _is_ Ned? Coming over for homework night soon?”

“Yeah, probably tomorrow.” Peter began to rise from his seat.

“But back to MJ,” May said suddenly. He sat. “First off, I want you to know that I _trust_ you, Peter. You’ve always been responsible and made me proud, even though supervision got a little tricky when we weren’t in the same galaxy. This trip might also have supervision gaps…”

“Sure,” he joked, throat constricting from nerves. “Probably one of many things Cleveland and deep space have in common.”

“… and _sometimes_ , with less supervision, it can be tempting, when you’re a teenager, to take advantage of that freedom. You know what I’m saying?”

Peter nodded. _Please_ , he thought. _Please stop there_. She ignored the nod.

“We’ve had the talk.” May pressed her hand gravely to her chest. “ _I_ consider you educated as to what goes where and no means no and always using protection.” His face was probably the colour of a hot dog. She continued more softly, definitely aware that this was uncomfortable. “If you decide, while you’re away from home, that this is the right time for you and MJ, I can live with that. Fuck, that’s hard to say.”

He smiled weakly.

“Ok.”

She nodded with finality and put her glasses back on. Briskly, she signed the permission form and pushed it across the table to Peter, who grabbed it and gave it a quick, anxious fold.

“Thanks, May.”

“You wanna go out for dinner? I was thinking maybe Indian?”

He breathed, working his lungs back up to regular capacity instead of shallow, panicked inhales.

“Yeah, great! Let me just go put this away first.”

Peter bounded to his room, yet to really realize he was going on the trip―thanks to being too hung up on getting his aunt’s go-ahead with MJ. Maybe it was a little bit late, but he decided that the timing was close enough to stretch the blessing back to cover the actual Event without being ethically bound to tell May he’d already had sex. Awesome!

As he slipped the form into his backpack and collected his phone, Ned texted, requesting the status of said form. _Now_ Peter could get excited.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fun one and more than twice the length of the last chapter! Hooray for those of you craving a longer chapter! Lotsa humour, lotsa fluff, lotsa justification for why last chapter didn't have endnotes...

XXVIII

Everybody was supposed to have a happy place. A safety net. A home base. Mr. Stark had sort of had a talk with Peter about it, how it was important to be able to quickly locate that memory or favourite room in his apartment or whatever after a mission because it would help him recover mentally, the same way the proper medical care could heal him physically. Besides that, Peter had overheard people flippantly talk about ‘going to their happy place’ during afternoon gridlock, while on hold with the phone company, when an incompetent classmate was attempting to tell them how to do their part of the group project, etcetera, etcetera.

It had been a hard thing for Peter to figure out. He understood the concept, but life had unsettled him so many times, jostling him like a sudden lurch in the subway every time he thought he was done being unseated. May probably wanted to be his happy place, and he wanted that too, but for now, Peter needed to spread that designation around a little; he still felt too much guilt about hiding things from his aunt and making her worried to totally depend on her like that. He just hadn’t known where else to spread it, who or what he should count on to hold him up. Not just one strand of support, but a web that could never break. This afternoon, Wednesday, was helping him with perspective. So was sitting cross-legged on his bedroom ceiling. There was a dopey smile on his face as he watched his two best friends bicker over homework―Ned, seated on the bed, and MJ, occupying the desk chair, managing to look queenly even while slumped.

Maybe she’d tell him he was lame (probably she’d be right), but sitting around doing homework with these two might just be his happy place. Peter sighed as MJ tapped her pen against her knee. Her posture stiffened.

“Peter, quit staring and get down here!”

Ned chuckled, glanced up to catch his eye, and shook the bag of Doritos he was holding. Peter nodded and Ned tossed one up to him. He snagged it out of the air and ate it, still upside down.

“Seriously?” MJ checked flatly.

“Try to throw it into my mouth,” Peter encouraged.

Ned chucked another one towards the ceiling, but something was working against them―the weight of the chip? The force of the throw? Gravity? Distance? These were the problems staying in school would help Peter learn to solve―and it fell short. But Peter and Ned were persistent, that was kinda their thing. Half a dozen more arced up and back down, occasionally hitting Peter in the face, just not getting into his mouth. (Sure, he could lean into his powers for assistance, but where was the fun in that?)

“You guys are losers,” MJ muttered, propping her elbow on the desk while she waited them out. She fiddled with the Skittles that had rolled out of the open pack beside her textbook; soon, they were turning into a swirling design.

“Heard that one before,” Ned mumbled around the chip he’d shoved into his own mouth in between tossing them up to Peter.

Seconds later, May stepped into the room, absently digging in her purse until her gaze moved enough to take in the small scattering of Doritos on the floor. She stared at Ned, then Peter.

“He started it,” they said in unison, pointing at each other.

“And I’m stopping it. Peter,” she whined, “you could’ve just told me you wanted to clean the floors! I would’ve run interference with your friends so you could spend the whole night mopping instead! What a bummer.”

Now she was glaring, so Peter flipped down from the ceiling and started collecting the larger pieces of shattered Doritos in his palm.

“That’s more like it,” she acknowledged, giving him an approving grin. “So, I’ll probably be three and a half, four hours.”

“Movies, right?” Peter confirmed, sweeping orange dust from his fingers into his trash bin.

“Yeah.” May glanced at her watch. “And I better get going.”

“Whoa, whoa,” he delayed. “Who are you going with?”

He felt Ned and MJ discretely turn towards each other and start discussing homework again.

“A friend,” his aunt said breezily.

“A grope-y kind of friend?” Peter accused.

May squared off against him.

“You wanna come be my chaperone?” She snorted a laugh. “Just a friend, Peter.” May stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. Just because he returned it didn’t mean he wasn’t still a little suspicious. She backed up and addressed his friends. “You guys have a good night, ok?”

“Yeah, you too, May!” Ned piped up.

“Hey, MJ,” May called. “Skittle me.”

Peter turned to watch his girlfriend make a selection from her candy motif and throw it underhand towards his aunt. May’s necked bobbed just a little and she caught it in her mouth.

“That’s how it’s done, boys,” she said, looking from Ned to Peter. She gave MJ a thumbs up.

“We would’ve gotten it,” Peter grumbled.

“Next time,” May instructed, “you put trash bags down first. I don’t want orange shit ground into the carpets. And maybe practice the sideshow act _after_ homework’s done? Is that so hard?”

“No. Though, technically, we did learn a few things about physics.”

“Is this really the thing you want to use your monthly ‘Don’t freak out, May, it’s a science experiment’ card on?”

“I thought I negotiated that up to biweekly!” he argued. Ned chuckled in the background.

“Oh, sorry. The web-hammock that was in my living room a month ago must’ve given me amnesia!”

Peter, cowed, closed his mouth.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, touching his cheek.

“Ok, enjoy your movie.”

When his aunt had gone, Peter wended his way back to his bed around backpacks and strewn papers.

“So, you think she’s dating som―”

“Ned, do not even go there.”

He met MJ’s eye to make sure she wasn’t about to say anything either, then slipped off the edge of the bed to sit on the floor.

“For the quiz, which pages from chapter eight were we supposed to focus on…?” Peter flipped back and forth in his textbook.

Ned cracked his open expertly and Peter craned his head around to stare at him. His best friend wasn’t exactly disorganized, but he wasn’t this other extreme either―the extreme that had stickies protruding in a rainbow wave from the pages of his book.

“What the hell?” Peter asked, reaching over to flick a blue page-marker.

“Yeah,” Ned responded happily, “Betty said colour-coding really helped her study. It gave her memory this, like, extra visual cue that improved recall or something. I thought I’d try it.”

“Betty?”

“Yeah, Peter,” Ned confirmed, like Peter was being a moron, “Betty. You know, _Betty_. We were texting after the football game and we realized each of us was good at the class the other one could use a little help in, so we hung out yesterday.”

He said it so casually that it was obvious he hadn’t considered it more than just hanging out. Peter looked to MJ who smiled smugly. Right, so the matchmaking was a work in progress and she was going to take credit for the whole thing. That’s what he was getting from his girlfriend’s expression. _Undercover do-gooder_ , he thought, before realizing that kinda described someone else he knew.

“Here,” Ned went on, “I’ll tell you the page numbers and you can write them down.”

“Wait, why? Aren’t you staying?”

Actually, Peter noticed that his friend was stacking his books and capping his impressive range of coloured markers (to go with the stickies, he guessed).

“Nah. The sexual tension between you two―” Ned looked from Peter to MJ. “―is unbearable. I have a sense for this. A romance detection sense, if you will.”

Peter wanted to ask whether Ned couldn’t use that sense on himself, or if there was some other reason he hadn’t realized he was on the brink of dating Betty. He restrained himself.

“Shut up,” was what MJ went with.

Ned grinned.

“Young love.”

MJ swivelled in the chair and became very busy writing in her notebook. Weird. Peter, on the other hand, acted completely normal, definitely not turning pink or having to catch himself before he could accidentally crumple his entire textbook into a ball the size of one of MJ’s Skittles. NOT THAT HE WAS THINKING ABOUT MJ.

Ned stood, pulling out his phone.

“Hey, Betty texted. I told her the colour-coding had already come in handy. She said she’s proud of me.” He laughed.

“Maybe you could show her the book in person?” MJ suggested slyly.

“Yeah,” Ned said, sort of to himself, as he wandered out of Peter’s room.

Peter rolled his eyes and followed his friend, opening the front door and locking it behind him. He returned to find MJ closing her books. She was leaving too? His heart sank.

“Do we radiate unbearable sexual tension?” she asked, giving him a hard look.

He froze.

“What? No. I don’t think so? Ned’s just projecting, because of, because of Betty.” Peter tugged nervously at the cuffs of his sweater.

“Right,” MJ agreed. She shook her head with a swift jerk, though the rest of her body language remained relaxed. “Obviously, the only one who’s unbearable is you―” Peter was nodding without really absorbing the words. “―and there’s no tension. Obviously.”

“Obviously. Yep, no tension here.” Trying to be nonchalant, he made a dismissive noise that he’d never made before in his life.

He stepped forward stiffly and MJ’s head snapped up to track him.

“But if there was…”

She grabbed the front of his sweater and yanked him down, stretching up at the same time to kiss him. Both of them pulling and pushing, it wasn’t clear to Peter how they were going to get anywhere, and yet he was happy just to grip the back of MJ’s neck and feel her hot tongue in his mouth.

Once her arm looped behind his neck, he hoisted her the rest of the way out of the chair and caught her with both hands on her ass. MJ wriggled in his arms―probably feeling how eager he was, solid in the front of his jeans―and delved her hands up beneath his sweater, and the t-shirt under that. Her palms ran from his stomach around to his back. She’d had her thighs squeezed to his hips and had been letting Peter do the rest to hold her up, but now she wrapped her legs around him, forcing their hips together. Peter swore and backed her into the wall next to his desk. His mouth was on her throat when she started messing with him.

“This is the first time I get to undress you from normal clothes,” MJ panted. His cock throbbed and he dug into her with his hips. “Or, what do superheroes call them? Civilian clothes?”

Peter grinned against her skin, then shook his head and began a test to see how fine a line he could lick up her throat. She shuddered in his arms.

“Anyway…” Her fingers drummed on either side of his spine. Peter’s toes clenched in his socks. “…maybe I should savour it.”

Gradually, MJ worked his layers higher, repeatedly pausing to lay her palms flat on his skin. His eyes fluttered closed and he tried not to groan. It was too soon to groan. _Quiet, Peter_ , he told himself. But god, he loved it when she touched him. Her hands traced around to his chest. His heart was pounding, trying to get her attention, he guessed. Their cheeks slipped against each other and they were kissing again. Deeply. He hoped she’d say something if he accidentally leaned them right through his bedroom wall, because he doubted he would notice.

MJ rocked in his hold and Peter broke the kiss to gasp. His eyes stayed shut, racing back and forth under the lids as he relished her warm, candy-coated breath on his cheek.

“You know,” she said quietly, “I’m never going to get your shirt off with you hanging onto me. Better start with the bottoms.”

Her fingertips trailed down to his jeans. Peter breathed harder than he had with a ton of concrete on his back.

“M…”

He could feel her circling the button and thrust automatically.

“Cut it out, loser, I told you: I’m _savouring_ this.” Her face came forward to put her lips by his ear. “It could take all night.”

And she pressed her palm along the length of his zipper and, more importantly, his erection.

“ _Now_ who’s being unbearable,” Peter ground out.

He backed them away from the wall and generally flung himself at his bed, landing on top of MJ since he wouldn’t (couldn’t) let her go. Very quickly, Peter realized that what she’d said to him the first time they’d slept together―about undressing fast because she had more to remove―was a blatant lie. She was doing it again right now, with them equally clothed! In seconds and a confusion of arms, MJ was down to a black camisole, through which Peter could feel her nipples against his chest when he lowered himself to kiss her (his own sweater had been the first thing to go).

“No bra?” he asked, dick stiffening even further as he spoke the words.

“No lining,” she answered and shuffled against him, making him groan, to peel the camisole off and show him the satiny wireless cups. Peter exhaled slowly through his nose, hungry for the way the fabric hugged her natural shape.

He put his mouth to her neck, the valley above her collarbone that he pressed his tongue into before moving down her chest. MJ’s goosebumps came out like stars at dusk. The texture would have been faint for the average person’s touch, but every little hint of her reaction stood out to Peter’s lips and nose as he dragged across her skin. His stomach tightened to prevent him collapsing on her while his hands went for her fly. As soon as it was open, MJ’s hands were on his chest, damp, nudging him over onto his side. They bumped foreheads, looking between them to watch her unbutton and unzip him. She plunged her hand down and grasped his erection through his boxers.

Before Peter could get over the thrill enough to get a good rhythm going with his hips, MJ’s hand snuck inside his boxers and, after a hesitant moment, closed around him.

“I’ve been curious,” she said in a breathy, defensive tone.

“Asking for an explanation was the last thing on my mind,” he replied and huffed out a laugh.

She put her wrist into the task, making gentle rotations as she stroked him. Peter groaned. He scooted his hips closer to MJ and wrapped an arm around her, stuffing his hand into the back pocket of her undone jeans. Her motion was unhurried―ugh! Torturously unhurried!―and it improved with every pass along his length. It was so… _MJ_. She was like one of those learning robots, rapidly studying whenever it came into contact with something new, absorbing to the level of mastery. Except MJ wasn’t like a robot, not at all like a robot. Fuck, Peter’s brain was rambling and his chest was rising and falling and every time an appreciative noise left his mouth his girlfriend focused her efforts on trying to get him to repeat it. (It was working more often than not.)

“You probably don’t have…”

“In my bag,” MJ directed, releasing him to allow Peter to spring from the bed and dig through the backpack, gasping like a fish out of water. He found a condom and straightened up. “You have such a great ass,” she sighed.

Peter whipped around, tugging the front of his boxers up. He raised his eyebrows.

“ _What_?”

“Don’t play games, Parker. You know you look good.”

MJ stretched her arm straight out above her head and watched him. He flushed as she leisurely studied his body.

“You know what?” he demanded, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “You’ve spent enough time ‘observing’ me. Let’s see _your_ ass.”

Peter put the wrapped condom carefully between his teeth and dove on her, wrestling her flat onto her back as she giggled. It was a low, shaky sound that filled his heart with something warm and marshmallow-y and the rest of him with adrenaline.

“This is insane,” he mumbled as she let him slide her jeans down as far as the way he was straddling her thighs would let him. MJ rolled her eyes and pushed her underwear down too. Peter was still in awe that he got to see her like this, that she was kind of… his?

“ _You’re_ insane,” she argued, mostly hiding her smirk. He tossed the condom on the bed.

“Flip over.”

“Fine, but if you even think about slapping my ass, I’ll papercut your balls off with my copy of _The Bell Jar_.”

He swallowed, erection momentarily quelled.

“That was kind of intense.”

“I get that way about books,” MJ said sarcastically. “You climb skyscrapers in high-tech jammies, I read a lot. We all have our hobbies.”

With a satisfied grin, she pushed at Peter’s legs to create enough space to roll over. As his gaze skimmed over her skin, a much pleasanter ache of anticipation returned to his balls than the one he’d had a second ago involving the graphic misuse of literature. He reached down and unhooked her bra, then pressed his palm to the place where the band had been.

“Ok, no more staring. If you’re not going to let me do my homework, you can at least have sex with me.”

“ _Let_ you?” He climbed off of her and MJ got rid of the rest of her partially-removed clothes. Peter _stared_ before helping her pull the tight opening of her jeans from her ankles. “You’ve been thinking about this since we organized the homework session.”

“Maybe.”

MJ walked her hands backwards, moving back on the bed and separating the layers of bedding until she was on the sheet. Her eyes were fixed on Peter. It felt good.

“Since you got to the apartment.”

She smiled.

“Since you came in my room.”

“Since I did _what_ in your room?” MJ teased, totally ruining the seducing thing he thought he was doing.

“I’m done talking.”

“Good. Come on, Spider-Man.”

 _Peter was definitely going to have to deal with that_. He crawled over her and let her push his jeans and boxers down; he took care of his own socks. _He’d just tell her she couldn’t use the name that way_. MJ surprised him by moaning at his mere proximity. The heat rose from her skin and the deep brown of her eyes. _That it was wrong_. He kissed her soundly, hovering over her, and she laid her hands on his back. _It was sullying a symbol of compassion and justice._ MJ’s palms brushed down his skin and, at his lower back, took the step of bringing him down to her. _A respected public figure_. Using her shoulders, she wiggled higher on his pillow and then tilted her hips up so that his erection glided against her wetness. He must have clipped her clit because she shivered and hugged him closer.

“That feels good, Spider-Man,” MJ whispered and held his gaze.

Fuck it. She could use the name whenever she wanted.

“You’re on top,” he told her and quickly repositioned them.

MJ plucked an elastic from her wrist and gathered her hair back in a low ponytail, the usual curls escaping. Scrambling, Peter located the condom, tore it open, and rolled it on. Under her heated stare, he retreated, sitting up, until his back hit the wall.

“I want to be close to you,” he said. After a heartbeat and a half, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. It didn’t stay for even a second. MJ grinned.

“Me too.”

She mounted his lap and gripped him (dear _Thor_ ).

“You’re ok?” he checked before she could fit them together. “You’re ready?”

MJ looked quickly off to the side. Embarrassed?

“Seeing the name turn you on… turns _me_ on,” she admitted.

Peter groaned and cupped her breasts. MJ lowered onto him, squinting in concentration while he just tried to breathe. This. This feeling right here. This was why Anakin picked the Dark Side. _Oh my god, Peter, shut up_ , he screamed at himself. He groped her breasts as she settled into his lap with little tilts and twists of her hips.

“I might prefer this to reading,” MJ said, letting her head fall back with the first rock of her hips. Her fingers teased the hair at the back of his neck. “But if we ever meet any of my living literary idols together, don’t tell them I said that.”

She lifted her hips and sank swiftly back down. Peter ran his hands over her worshipfully, then dug his fingers firmly into her hips.

“Never,” he promised and guided her through another rise and fall.

Her palms smoothed over to his shoulders as her head went from hanging back to dropping forward, forehead on his collarbone. He agitated her in his lap, thrusting shallowly. There was nothing more to do. Peter could see MJ losing herself in it, rubbing her nose up his throat as she exhaled warm air. He made himself relax his hold on her hips. She rocked a little harder and he felt between their bodies for her clit, edging close to it with light touches. MJ’s hips jerked, seeking, and Peter realized he was grinning to himself. He kissed the side of her head and it swayed, loose.

“God _damn_ you feel good,” he mumbled to her.

Peter eased back, gave himself up to MJ to let her ride him how she wanted. He’d loved her legs without seeing how strong they were, that was obvious now. The hand not busy rubbing constantly at her clit skated down to her thigh. He hoped she’d been appreciating her own body in all the time she’d apparently spent appreciating his. Then, he remembered the drawings MJ had done of the two of them. If she could be her own muse, that must be a good sign.

She wasn’t careful, or dainty, or even graceful as she approached orgasm, but he didn’t give a shit about that. Peter was going to die, he was going to fucking die if he didn’t get there, if he didn’t make this good for her. MJ rode him unrepentantly and Peter marveled at her.

“Fuck,” she murmured. “Peter, _Peter_.”

He grasped the back of her neck and held her in a sloppy kiss, MJ bouncing spastically and Peter’s cock squeezed and sheathed in sweet agony. _I love you_ , he communicated with his snapping hips and probing tongue, with his finger pressing hard on her clit and his legs that laid tense between hers.

She screamed his name and it lit him up. He folded her into him as she made sounds he wanted to scoop up in his hands and splash in his face, just drench himself in them, drink them like water. When MJ was as heavy in his lap as anyone or anything could manage to be for his super-strength, her arms limp around his neck, Peter came. He couldn’t tell if it was the suddenly slower motion of her hips as they heaved to a stop or his own thought catching up to him.

“ _M_ ,” he gasped, bucking while she unhurriedly kissed his neck and ran warm hands over his face and ears.

MJ kissed him slowly and the fact that she knew he was breathing hard and chose to block one of his airways anyway made Peter’s lips curve up under hers.

“That was a good one,” he spoke against her.

She drew back a little, warm gaze going from his mouth to his eyes. She shrugged.

“Decent.”

* * *

After MJ had packed up her school stuff, Peter had walked her home, his own backpack stuffed with something other than notebooks. He’d taken her right to her door (it was getting late), sharing a final kiss with her before she slipped inside. Then, he’d bounded back to street level―possibly doing a flip down one flight of stairs because he was so happy―and found a hidden spot to change into his Spidey suit.

Because he’d been thinking. He’d been thinking about how MJ was always the one who was prepared. That shouldn’t be all on her. She’d even mentioned in passing that she was getting a prescription for birth control (it had had to be mentioned in passing because they were at school and the thought made Peter _very_ excited). He was determined to take some responsibility, and he roamed Queens with purpose that night.

Which was how Spider-Man got a congratulatory fist bump at a bodega for buying a box of condoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: one decathlon member finds it difficult not to be distracted while studying with his captain. If only he had someplace else to study. Someplace filled with people of above-average intelligence just waiting to be press-ganged into becoming his study buddies...


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very serious chapter ahead. 100% studying. 0% funny business.
> 
> *snorts* As if.

XXIX

Peter was trying to figure out if MJ was wearing the dress on purpose. Obviously, she wore dresses. He’d seen it. But just for, like, special occasions, such as dances, academic awards nights, and International Women’s Day, when she’d taped doodles she’d done of inspirational women (Michelle Obama, Katherine Johnson, and Susan Solomon were a few he remembered) all the way around her skirt and on the back of her denim jacket. The focused expression he currently had directed at the Jones’s kitchen tabletop was supposed to be the result of his efforts to recall the second-longest river in Bolivia, not to decipher the motives behind his girlfriend’s clothing choice.

Not that women’s clothes were designed or worn for the purpose of eliciting any kind of response from men, even if it was confusion. That was absolutely not how Peter felt. It was just that… on her, his girlfriend, the dress was a choice, and he never would’ve thought it was about him, except that she was wearing it now and she hadn’t been earlier. Not that she’d been naked earlier! No, just that MJ had worn a different outfit to school and the switch from that to this was very obvious. Peter couldn’t see another motive behind it, besides himself. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been a motive before.

Also, MJ kept kicking her legs up to stretch them across, under the table, to the chair opposite her, where she rested her heels. It made her skirt slide up her thighs, and―SUE HIM, OK?―Peter noticed.

It all just would’ve been a lot easier to deal with if her mom, June, wasn’t standing in the kitchen with them, making mac and cheese from a box.

“You’d think she’d be able to do this, wouldn’t you?” June asked Peter, pointing a gooey wooden spoon towards her daughter.

Next to him, MJ rolled her eyes at her mother. Peter made an odd shrugging gesture, wrong-footed by the question and unsure how to come down on the side that would allow him to be liked for agreeing while also not doing his girlfriend an unforgivable betrayal. Luckily, June was already shaking her head.

“Nope, Michelle can’t cook anything that’s supposed to be easy. She’s not allowed near the toaster. Nearly blew up the microwave. I’m surprised she hasn’t managed to set her cereal on fire.”

“Well, I’ll keep trying,” MJ offered sarcastically. Peter laughed. “I think we could’ve trusted Peter with it today.”

“Yeah,” he jumped in. “I can totally…”

June lifted a hand to halt Peter, then raised her eyebrows at her daughter in an unimpressed face disturbingly similar to May’s.

“He’s your guest, Michelle.” She frowned. “And I thought you were studying.”

Peter glanced quickly at his girlfriend. She was narrowing her eyes.

“It’s hard to study when you’re criticizing my cooking skills.”

“Skills?!” June burst into laughter. “That’s a good one. I’m almost done anyway.”

As she turned back to the stove, Peter began to rise automatically from his chair, propelled by the manners his aunt had instilled in him. He should help out. It would be rude not to. But MJ put her hand on his thigh and the whole world stopped like somebody had pulled an emergency break. Her hand was very high on his thigh.

“You do know it’s Friday night though, right?” MJ’s mom checked, speaking over her shoulder. “You couldn’t have done something a little more fun?”

Peter thought of the recently purchased condoms―the open box at home and the one he’d removed from it, currently burning a hole in his wallet.

“We leave for Cleveland in a week,” MJ reminded her mom. “Besides, this _is_ fun. Peter’s having the time of his life―right, nerd?” Her fingers gave his thigh a quick squeeze.

Cautiously, Peter snuck a look at his girlfriend from the corner of his eye. She was staring at the laptop in front of her, expression bored. Wait a second, no. There was tension around her mouth; MJ was trying not to smile. This was not a smart game she was playing. Peter’s gaze zipped from daughter to mother and back. MJ was typing in the study guide they’d been compiling in between quizzing each other―something she wanted to bring in for the rest of the team to supplement their practices. She wrote: ‘chicken.’

“Forks or spoons, folks?” June asked, still facing away from them as she heaped a pair of bowls with mac and cheese.

“Uh, spoon. Spoon for me,” he stammered.

“Fork,” MJ requested. She typed the same word again.

He would not react. Peter was better than this.

No, he wasn’t.

Under the table, he bumped his leg into MJ’s. Swallowed thickly. Smoothed his hand down her leg towards her knee. Her hand tumbled from his thigh into his lap, palm pressed to his crotch. Peter jumped up.

“I’m just gonna go to the bathroom before we eat,” he said frantically as MJ’s mom looked at him with mild confusion. “Um, where is it?”

June gave him directions and Peter skirted the table, almost tripping over his own feet as he held himself back from sprinting away. Even hurrying down the hallway, he kept his hands jammed in the pouch of his sweatshirt, stretching it low over his swelling erection. Even doing review had the potential to turn into sex now! Having a girlfriend was wild! For the sake of both himself and MJ―the whole _team_ ―he needed to find another place to study.

* * *

“You know who’d make a great study buddy? Your pal Karen!” Mr. Stark said, jabbing a conclusive finger in Peter’s direction. “I can’t believe you didn’t think of that. All the tech I loaded into that suit to guide, instruct, and assist you!”

“And spy on me,” Peter contributed, thumbing through a stack of flashcards. This was the new study plan. A great plan! Hopefully more fruitful, learning-wise, than the previous evening at MJ’s.

His mentor shrugged.

“Yeah, well, multipurpose, like I was saying.”

“Karen’s great,” Peter sighed, “but auditory learning isn’t really my thing. I need interaction. I need to see somebody face-to-face asking me questions.”

He continued to lay out his notes, covering the central table in the Avengers’ common room.

“So what happened to whatshername?” Tony prompted. He was hanging out in the doorway now, as if Peter wouldn’t noticed he’d been retreating from the room.

“Don’t even try to pretend you don’t know the name Michelle Jones,” Pepper advised, maneuvering around Tony and into the room so gracefully that she had him turned around and approaching Peter again before he could even realize it had happened. Peter grinned. “He never forgets someone who out-sasses him,” she confided to Peter.

Tony laughed mirthlessly and waggled a finger at Pepper.

“That’s not what happened. What happened was―”

“So you’ll be away the whole of next weekend for the tournament, huh?” Pepper asked Peter, blatantly talking over Tony.

She was so awesome at being on top of things, he wasn’t surprised she knew his itinerary. Peter nodded.

“Yeah, as long as we don’t get eliminated the first day, but we’re pretty, uh, pretty confident.”

“Great, Peter! Preparation is definitely key,” she counselled. “Some people just have very short memories for how rocky things can be when they don’t plan.”

“Well,” Tony interrupted, “let’s not undervalue improvisation. Telling Peter that he has to prepare is an insult to his intelligence. Are you saying that Peter does not have the skills to think on his feet? Hmm, Pep? Do I have that right? You think that Peter isn’t _smart_ enough just to show up in Cleveland with his little green jacket―”

“Yellow,” Peter reminded him.

“―and his brain and win the thing all by himself?”

Peter saw Pepper compose her annoyance with a short inhale through her nose and a little twitch of her head. His wide-eyed gaze shot back and forth between the two of them like a pinball.

“I’ll set aside most of the ridiculousness that just came out of your mouth,” Pepper offered, “but you raised one useful point.” Tony frowned at this half-compliment. “Peter doesn’t have to win by himself.”

“Right,” Tony piggybacked. He turned to Peter. “Good news, kid. You’re part of a team.”

Pepper beamed, but Peter got the feeling it wasn’t really meant for him, or for Mr. Stark, so much as being self-congratulatory. She walked over to Tony and patted his chest fondly.

“Yes, he’s part of the Avengers, who will be only too happy to help him when he needs them.” Pepper kissed his cheek.

Tony laughed uncomfortably as she moved away.

“Ah, no, no. I’m too busy to―”

“I cleared your schedule,” Pepper informed him from the doorway with a smile. “Peter’s staying overnight, so you have almost two full days to help him.” She raised her eyebrows. “Better get to it!”

Although he made it clear that he would have rather been in another part of the compound speed-building a condensed version of the Spidey suit that Peter could wear under his decathlon jacket, which would feed him answers as questions were asked, Mr. Stark did agree to help (after a short but inflexible lecture from Peter about cheating). He quizzed Peter while pacing, flipping a vial he’d found in Peter’s backpack in his hand. Peter cringed every time he watched his mentor do it; the vial contained his latest concoction of web fluid as he worked towards something that wouldn’t strip paint, but he hadn’t had a chance to test this one out yet.

Maybe that was ok though, because the stress of wondering what would happen if the vial leaked or smashed kept Peter alert and on his toes, firing off answers as his mentor went through the question cards. Gradually (not _that_ gradually), Mr. Stark got bored and deviated from the prepared questions―still ok and helpful, actually, because that’s what the competition would be like. Then, the questions became less and less frequent, separated by thoughtful rants as Tony’s mind wandered off, inspired by the content of the questions he’d been asking. Peter, easily influenced by his mentor and keen to keep up with him, was dragged along and sidetracked. Before he’d realized they were no longer talking about Danish communal wind turbine ownership, the two of them had turned the backs of Peter’s prep cards into a dozen sketches for how wind energy might be better harnessed. That was around the time Dr. Banner walked into the room and very patiently evicted Tony so that he could tutor Peter himself until they took a break for dinner.

That night, he caught up with the rest of his team―the school one, not the superhero one. Apparently, she informed him via text, MJ had had a productive day studying with Cindy, despite the occasional break she’d taken to lie face down on Cindy’s bedroom floor, waiting for her high-strung friend to stop imagining their team’s crushing defeat in a hundred inventive ways. Those two balanced each other out, Peter thought, though he was glad it was MJ in the captain’s seat rather than Cindy. While the former had a calm, supportive leadership style reminiscent of Liz’s (if Liz had been fueled by sarcasm and aggressive apathy), the latter seemed more likely to extend study periods by forcing you to prop your eyelids open with toothpicks.

Ned he actually called, since Peter felt guilty about not camping out at his house this weekend instead of fleeing the city. (MJ had more than understood, had in fact been glad Peter was the one to go because it was more convenient for her, so there was no guilt there.) Apparently, his best friend hadn’t been bereft of a study partner after all.

“Yeah, I met up with Betty at the library,” Ned revealed. “She reserved a study room.”

“That sounds cozy,” Peter teased.

“Peter, come on, it’s just for decathlon. Flash was there too.”

“Was he horrible?” Peter spun in his chair, tucking his feet up.

“Well, he’s more tolerable when you’re not around.”

“Awesome,” he said flatly.

“He and Betty are friends and I guess he cares enough about winning that he was willing to study on a Saturday. Also, he couldn’t be as obnoxious as usual because we were in the library.”

“So that’s the secret, huh?”

Ned chuckled.

“Seems like it. Anyway, don’t feel bad for not having me over. I think Betty and I made real progress.”

Peter wanted to turn that into a joke, but Ned had stirred up his soupy guilt into a guilt whirlpool and he was unavoidably sucked in.

“Actually, I’m not studying at home this weekend. I’m, uh, upstate?”

“FEEL BAD, PETER! FEEL VERY BAD!” Ned shouted, making Peter jump. “You should’ve brought me!”

“You had cozy library time with Betty!” he argued.

“Well…! Yeah, you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I don’t also deserve a superhuman study session.”

“I know, dude.”

“Ugh, well, I’m coming to May’s tomorrow night so we can at least watch a movie.”

“We’re not watching _Life of Pi_ ,” Peter said quickly.

“It’s inspirational!”

“We’re competing at a decathlon tournament, not getting stranded in the ocean!”

Ned sighed.

“ _Mulan_? And yes, I know, we’re not saving China either.”

“Fine.”

“Ok, I’ll see you tomorrow. Call me if you find another radioactive spider that can bite me so I get to study with the Avengers too.”

Peter agreed, rolling his eyes.

All that mutative spider stuff was great, until it woke him up at 4:30am when all Avengers present at the compound were automatically summoned to respond to a threat. Peter fell out of bed (and a dream about MJ that he’d _really_ wanted to see the conclusion to) and raced to the common room in his pajamas―better underdressed than late, he figured.

The others hashed out logistics while he got his eyes to stay open for more than a millisecond and when everyone broke apart, Peter turned to race back to his room for his suit. Tony grabbed his shoulder.

“We don’t need you on this one, kid.”

“What? Mr. Stark…” He was hurt.

“Not because I think you’re incapable. Quit looking at me like that! This one’s a cinch. Not worth dragging you away from your homework.”

“Studying.”

“Whatever.” Tony scratched his ear and Peter wondered how many different things his mind was on right now. “It’ll probably take even less time because it’s early and these aren’t all morning people. If Bruce was going, oh ho ho, it’d be over in a second. Sure, his anger is legendary, but you should see him when he’s _cranky_. Point is, your lovely aunt may literally kill me if I needlessly get you involved.”

“I’m an Avenger!” Peter tried. “I’m involved!”

Mr. Stark slapped him on the back and stepped around him.

“Keep the home fires burning, would ya?”

Ok, so he wasn’t going. He might be more indignant if he wasn’t secretly grateful for the chance to crawl back into bed. But he didn’t need to let his mentor know that.

“Since you’re all going to be busy today, I guess I’d better just head home.”

Tony whipped around.

“Absolutely not. You’re staying here where I know where you are.”

“But there’s no point if I don’t have anyone to study with,” Peter argued.

“The point is your safety. Pretty easy to remember.”

“Some of you are going, some of you are staying to monitor, and research, and, and, whatever, and I’m just… here! Mixed up yet unable to help.” Peter gave Tony a sly glance. “With all the parenting books she reads, I don’t think May would have any optimistic theories on what that might do to a developing mind.”

“What do you want me to do? Get you a pony?” Mr. Stark was looking around and past him, clearly anxious at being held up.

“Way simpler. Get me Ned. Look, he’s known about Spider-Man for ages, he’s mostly discrete, he’s been dying to see this place. He’s my guy in the chair!” Peter finished.

“Alright, I’ll send a car for him.” Tony jogged away. “And low blow threatening me with May!”

So it wasn’t exactly setting up a meet and greet with the Black Widow or a photo with Thor, but Ned’s eyes widened to a record diameter when Peter walked him through the compound’s front doors. And maybe they didn’t pass their day with noses to the grindstone so much as visit every bathroom that wasn’t behind a restricted access door (“Thor has peed in one of these toilets, Peter. I want to pee where he peed.”), sit across from each other at lunch while Ned steepled his fingers and examined the condiments he’d pulled from the fridge (“I wonder what Hawkeye’s favourite kind of sandwich is?”), and race each other on wheeled conference chairs down multiple hallways (no reason for that one aside from Ned’s sheer joy at _finally_ being here), but it was a day well spent.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're not expecting anything E-rated from chapter XXX, then you really don't know me at all. Or you do and you're *deeply* in denial. Seriously, I may have to stage an intervention.
> 
> Also, if we could remember the good old days of leaving comments, especially as we now approach the end of this story, that would be fantastic! (Those of you who continue to leave comments saying the kindest things each week are highly valued and perennially exempt from reproach! Thank you!)
> 
> As ever, a lack of endnotes on a chapter means E content in the next one. Can we make that a thing? A "red sky at night, sailors' delight" kind of adage? For your consideration.

XXX

MJ grit her teeth, searching the sensation for a way to be both an excited captain and her regular enthusiasm-dialed-down-to-one self. How had Liz done this? Oh right, Liz was a genuinely friendly person. MJ was fine with leading the team through practices and sending out emails filled with study tips and reminders, but that wasn’t the whole job. When a major tournament rolled around, the decathlon captain needed to steer the group’s emotions as much as their work schedule. The second the rented coach bus pulled up in front of the school to take them to Cleveland, MJ was no longer just in charge of saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’ to the answers they gave during practice; she was in charge of morale. Maybe the whole thing had been a grim mistake, begun when Mr. Harrington named her captain and sealed when MJ didn’t decline. Shit, she was going to let everyone down…

“Hey! Are we loading our bags now?”

She spun around. Cindy had popped up next to her at the side of the coach bus. Lost in premonitions of disappointment, MJ had forgotten what she’d been doing. She gave the end of her suitcase a hard shove with her knee to send it deep into the bowels of the bus’s luggage hold and gestured for her friend to proceed with her own bag.

Once finished, they walked back to a frazzled, clipboard-clenching Mr. Harrington; the Washington trip where most of the team had almost plummeted in an elevator had really done a number on him. In the interest of not stressing him into a premature retirement, MJ and Cindy stood where their teacher could see them to make it impossible for him to fear that they were trapped and suffocating in the suitcase compartment.

The rest of the team assembled and it felt almost casual without everyone in their yellow jackets. Because Cleveland was a longer trip than Washington (both in terms of the drive and the number of days on their schedule), they hadn’t been expected to travel in uniform. MJ eyed Peter, watching him eye her back, and wondered if his sweater was soft. It was very possible that she was already making plans to fall asleep on his shoulder during the ride. Or maybe that would be unprofessional and she should keep a little distance between them and concentrate on captaining.

Peter gave his aunt a long hug and MJ smiled to herself. Her mom had woken her early this morning to make sure they could get their own hug in before she had to get to her shift at the hospital. MJ had gotten a couple more hours of sleep after that since the team had been excused from Friday classes, not having to show up at school until 10am to board the bus.

“Alright,” Mr. Harrington said as they loosely gathered around him. “Looks like everyone’s here and we’re all set to go. If anyone’s forgotten anything… please, just don’t tell me.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Betty? I believe you had something to add.”

Betty stepped through the circle of nerds looking immaculate in a way that MJ knew would confuse her later when they arrived and Betty was none the worse for wear despite the eight-hour trip. If MJ ever became paranoid enough to begin suspecting anyone else at this school was superhuman, she’d start her investigation with Betty. MJ had gone with a ponytail to give a presentable façade―she planned to yank out the elastic the minute she was in her seat.

Betty smiled at her and raised her hand from her side, extending a single pink rose with one of those temporary water tubes on the end of its stem.

“This is for you,” she said as MJ, startled, took hold of the flower. “You’ve been a really great captain and we all wanted to say thank you for getting us this far. Dark pink is supposed to be for gratitude.”

Betty finished with another wide smile and everyone clapped, making MJ earnestly want to crawl into the luggage compartment and slam the door down behind her. She glanced doubtfully around the circle, but even Flash looked at least semi-sincere. Peter was giving her full-dork heart-eyes, which overwhelmed her even more and made it much harder to remain internally removed from what was happening.

“Dammit,” MJ muttered and found herself smiling back at them. Not a big smile, nothing crazy, but enough to make Cindy wrap her arms around her shoulders from behind and then to make Ned pull her into an actual hug. Terrifying side-effects of showing the slightest bit of emotion. Her eyes met Peter’s and she could tell he was laughing at her. MJ rolled her eyes.

“Ok, onto the bus,” she urged them. That was supposed to be Mr. Harrington’s job, but MJ couldn’t risk this turning into a line of hugs, or―even more harrowing―a group hug. Not on her fucking watch.

Liz probably would’ve given a pep talk, but MJ figured the sheer positivity of Betty’s speech had taken care of that; plus, eight hours on the bus was plenty of time for any pep she tried to impart to wear off. And it would’ve taken her more than eight hours to summon pep to begin with. MJ decided to save the motivational words for tomorrow morning. They’d need something good to push them through the round robin until they emerged out the other side, bound for Cedar Point.

Peter kept catching her eye and she could sense that he was trying to guess where she would sit the same way that she was trying to guess where _he_ would sit. Luckily, Cindy and Ned swung into window seats on opposite sides of the bus, leaving Peter and MJ to basically sit side by side―not counting the aisle. MJ was happy to have Cindy next to her, though she did kinda want to ask how she was feeling about Ned. The less-than-breakup had been instigated by Cindy, but that didn’t mean she was unaffected. It wasn’t like MJ could ask her about it right now, however. Her friend looked happy though, which on Cindy meant headphones on, classical playlist started, eyes focused on the review cards in her hands. She definitely wanted the win this weekend.

The driver started up the bus and they were underway. MJ adjusted her seat as much as the controls allowed (were coach bus chairs even designed for human bodies?) and tried not to get trapped under the fear of letting Cindy down by being a bad captain. She glanced in the other direction and saw Peter hauling his sweatshirt off over his head, swallowed when his t-shirt lifted a little to expose skin. Sometime between that and the way he looked over at her with soft eyes when the bus merged onto the highway made MJ determined to make figuring out the team’s room assignments a priority.

Of course, that was another thing Mr. Harrington was supposed to handle. Something he _had_ , in fact, handled. So this little roommate reshuffle MJ was suddenly planning wasn’t strictly needed, but would be strongly preferred by at least two people: herself, and the boy with the earnest brown eyes.

Cindy distracted her by beginning to mumble as she went over her revision and when she glanced back across the aisle, Peter was engaged in conversation with Ned and Betty, who sat in front of Peter. _Not fooling anyone_ , MJ thought with an internal smile as she watched the blonde twist around to chatter diagonally to Ned. Maybe this morale thing wouldn’t be so tough after all. She’d forgotten that the least enthusiastic one of the team was usually herself. Even Flash was behaving passably well, having commandeered two entire seats for himself near the front of the bus and sprawled out, a pillow between his head and the window.

Now that they were on the eve of the tournament, MJ felt like she couldn’t study anymore, like the sight of her pre-highlighted last-second notes would wipe her memory clean of all the useful knowledge it had ever managed to store. This was why she always had a book. She paged through _Anna Karenina_ and found her place. In the extraordinarily unlikely event that she got time to plow through Tolstoy, MJ had also packed _Homegoing_ in the suitcase currently bumping around the cavernous luggage hold. Plenty to read and plenty of time.

She tried to concentrate. Wiggled around in her seat some more. Unlaced her sneakers and kicked them off. Remembered she hadn’t taken her elastic out and did that now, freeing her hair and relaxing her scalp. Read another sentence. Sighed.

A hand tapped her gently on the shoulder. MJ glanced over and fell deep into Peter Parker’s quicksand eyes. He had a ringed notebook on his lap, open to a page covered with―it looked like―chemistry-related calculations. Also, he was listening to something, because the hand that had gotten her attention was now offering up an earphone. She frowned suspiciously and Peter rolled his eyes until she took it from him and twisted it into her ear. Shyly, MJ smiled, hearing “You Get What You Give,” except her boyfriend was staring downward, pretending to be engrossed in his equations. Nerd.

MJ faced forward again and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. Her socked foot beat rhythmically against the back of the seat ahead of her. When the song ended, she felt Peter’s touch on her arm and figured he wanted to retrieve his earphone. But nope, his fingers trailed down to her hand and took it. Across the aisle, they held hands and MJ’s heart was thumping so forcefully in her ears that she hardly noticed anything else in Peter’s playlist. Which was sort of a shame, because there was probably some good teasing material to be gained from that.

* * *

“Say it.”

MJ jumped, almost sliding off the end of the bed she’d claimed. She didn’t know what the comforter was made of, but it was slippery as hell. Cindy was watching her from the desk, which she’d already turned into a working war room, operation: tournament. The headphones must have just come off because it had been silent up until now, minus the steady _pop_ of Cindy thumbing the cap off her jumbo pink highlighter, followed by the _clack_ of her pushing it back on.

“You must be mistaking me for someone talkative,” MJ replied. “I don’t have anything to say.”

“You haven’t unpacked,” Cindy accused.

“Did so. I hung my decathlon blazer in the closet.”

“That’s only because your mom has put the fear of god into you about wrinkling good clothes.”

MJ sunk onto her back. Despite the kind of gross satiny covering, the mattress felt pretty comfortable.

“Which you and I have previously agreed is rich coming from a woman who lives in scrubs.”

“You’re trying to sidetrack me,” Cindy (correctly) declared. “Let’s just get this over with so you can stop distracting me.”

Lying perfectly still, MJ moved only her eyes to meet her friend’s.

“How can I possibly be distracting you? I’ve literally done almost nothing since we got in here.”

“Yeah, but you’re _here_.”

“Rude. I thought you wanted to be roommates this weekend?”

“I did! I thought it was a great idea, and I asked you right after the weirdness with Ned, but there have been developments that invalidate the greatness of the idea!” Cindy explained, going from Zen to hyper in 0.02 seconds. “Well, not invalidate, but lessen the need for. First of all, I’m much less vulnerable now about the Ned thing, and second, I saw you and Peter making out _hard_ beside the McDonald’s at our second rest stop.”

“He tasted like strawberry milkshake,” MJ said quietly, unsure if it was a defense, a confession, or just an attempt to relive recent memory by describing it aloud.

“Your pining is like having someone set up a speaker on this desk―” (Cindy slapped the desk with an open palm.) “―and blast Ozzy Osbourne in my face while I’m trying to study. You will take your stuff, go to Peter’s room, evict Ned, and not come back here.”

“Never-ever?” MJ asked with facetiousness in her flat tone. Cindy stared her down.

MJ sighed and struggled up.

“If I did do that… where would Ned go?”

“Ned could room with Abe; he was the odd man out. I peeked at Mr. Harrington’s room assignment sheet,” she admitted. “I just wanted to make sure there was a plan.”

Snorting a laugh at her controlling friend, MJ raised her eyebrows.

“A plan which you’re now nullifying.”

“For the sake of the team,” Cindy pointed out.

“I thought doing what was best for the team was supposed to be on me.”

“It _will_ be on you. You’re the one who’s going to screw up the room assignments. Because you care about me and want me to be able to study in peace,” she added hurriedly, flashing MJ a consolatory smile.

“What if I want to stay here with you?” MJ dawdled and pushed the edge of her suitcase with her foot.

“Then I’m pulling the fire alarm and no one wins.”

“Shit. Since when are you so invested in my relationship?”

“Since being with Peter has opened you up to being friends with me instead of just my silent lab partner. You were good at that, don’t get me wrong,” Cindy allowed.

“Maybe I was only silent because you talk so much.”

Cindy’s eyes narrowed.

“Leave of your own free will before I am forced to knock you out, pack you into that suitcase, and _wheel_ you to Peter’s room.”

“When you go crazy, you really commit to it, you know that?” MJ checked, rising from the bed.

“You have two minutes to take what you need before I start flushing your toiletries.”

MJ caught the flash of smile as Cindy turned back to work. The girl was kind of a psycho, but they understood each other. Anybody less pushy would’ve let MJ back down from her own suppressed wants. This friendship was good for her.

She didn’t bother saying goodbye as she hauled the weighty hotel room door open and stepped into the hall; Cindy looked like she’d gone back to studying in earnest and MJ sort of feared what the penalty for interrupting her would be. She hitched her overstuffed backpack on her shoulder and headed down the hall― _way_ down the hall―until she got to the elevators. Then, she turned down the opposite hall to where the boys had been allocated a block of rooms.

So far, so good. Except she’d never asked Peter which room he and Ned were in.  She groaned loudly. Somehow, magically, the noise seemed to summon Ned, who emerged in a different shirt from the one he’d worn on the bus. Between the beige carpet, the beige wallpaper, and the pale wood of the doors, he spotted MJ immediately.

Apparently, he was on his way to the business centre (meaning, the room with the computers) to get in an hour of studying with Betty before some pre-tournament shuteye. This was extremely satisfying news to the maker of their match, but MJ had to briefly derail Ned’s mission. She really didn’t have to say much at all, besides profuse thankyous that probably made her seem desperate, and which she tried to accredit to a long day of travel. Ned swatted her words away with a dismissive hand and a chuckle. And then, miraculously, he went back into the hotel room to get his stuff.

MJ waited anxiously in the hallway; if Mr. Harrington turned the corner, just being in the boys’ section would require an explanation. She sure as hell wasn’t going to walk into the room unless she knew she was definitely staying. There was a chance that Ned would tell Peter and he wouldn’t want her to stay the night. He took the decathlon team pretty seriously since missing the big meet in Washington. Maybe he’d think she was a distraction. Maybe it was just a step too far, too soon. From what MJ remembered, they had both expressed a desire to wake up next to one another, but that could’ve just been the post-sex endorphins talking!

Ned appeared. Well, first Ned, and then the cumbersome suitcase he wheeled out behind him. He told her he’d texted Abe from the room to say he was coming and the other boy, naturally social, had been happy to gain a roommate. Left alone as Ned dropped off his luggage and then went to find Betty, MJ looked shiftily up and down the hall. She wanted to go for an entrance a little chiller than barging in.

She knocked.

“Hi,” Peter said as he swiftly opened the door.

Suddenly, this felt grown-up and illicit, sneaking into her lover’s hotel room.

“Hi,” MJ mumbled back.

His hand went lightning-fast to her waist as she brushed by him and their eyes met. She laughed, he grinned and pulled her inside.

“You were getting ready for bed?” MJ eyed his dorky t-shirt and plaid PJ bottoms. He had the TV on low―looked like some kind of documentary about space. Nerd. “It’s only…” She glanced at the red glow of numbers on the bedside clock. “…8:52.”

“Yeah.” Peter scratched the back of his head and MJ watched his bicep bulge. _Jesus_. “Just needed to get comfortable after the bus.”

“Well, I’ll join you, I guess.”

Why was she being so awkward? He wanted her here. They’d seen each other in a lot less than pajamas before. MJ swung her backpack off her shoulder and gripped it by the handle.

“You have… stuff?” Peter gestured at her bag.

“Some. I didn’t want to wheel my suitcase all the way over here. Would’ve been harder to explain if I ran into Mr. Harrington.”

“Right. Ok.”

He swept a welcoming hand towards the washroom and MJ started to head for it when Peter apparently changed his mind, because he stepped forward and hugged her instead. She was going to say something stupid, but then he exhaled deeply, breath breezing down her neck. Gradually, MJ relaxed into his hold, leaning her head against his. She closed her eyes. With a muffled brushing, his bare feet shuffled closer, which was when she felt his growing erection.

Regardless, Peter didn’t rush pushing back, but his cheeks were pink when he did. He looked her straight in the eye. Yep, this was where MJ wanted to be tonight.

She retreated to the washroom, her hand automatically remaining clamped around her bag despite the fact that she wasn’t really aware of her limbs. Her toiletries kit was near the top, so MJ brushed her teeth first. Then, she flossed. Washed her face. Jumped into the shower for a minute and a half of cleansing with the shower gel she’d packed (hotel soap? Heck no.). One of the large, white towels had already been used and hung limply on the rail; it was more than MJ could do not to picture that thing hanging around Peter’s hips.

After all this, she finally had to confront the choice buried in her backpack: which pajamas? Of course, she’d packed some standard, coordinating, cotton jammies, complete with eye mask―intended for nights with Cindy, studying too late and watching baking shows whenever MJ could pry her friend away from her notes. _But_ … the idea of creeping clandestinely to Peter’s room had been in her head for a while. Hence: the satiny lavender nightgown. Which she was now putting on her body. Breathe, MJ. It wasn’t even sexy, for fuck’s sake! Her _mom_ had bought it for her when MJ had attended her first high school sleepover at Liz’s house. There was no lace, no mesh, no deep V, just the material to evoke something a little closer to lingerie. Also, where the hem fell; she’d gotten taller over the past two years.

Walking out of the humid washroom into the cooler bedroom, at first, all she could think about was how Peter would be able to see her nipples through the shiny fabric. However, the second she looked at him―somewhere between lying down and sitting up, three pillows lined up behind his back―she quit thinking about her appearance. He’d turned off the TV. He was only watching her.

“You…” The look on his face finished his thought.

MJ smiled to herself and flipped back the covers on the side of the bed closest to her. She climbed up on her knees and crawled across to Peter.

“I bought condoms,” he blurted out, gaze loitering at the neckline he could probably see down.

She wanted him so bad in that second, she almost thought she was going to be sick. Moving her face close to his, MJ kept watching Peter’s eyes until they blurred and she had to shut her own. Their noses touched.

“Hell,” Peter whispered.

Their lips rubbed in passing before they returned for dragging, pulling kisses. Peter’s hands found and covered hers on the brisk-feeling bedsheets, then slid up her bare arms. MJ began to sit and he widened his legs to lower her between them. The kissing became heated and soon she was gripping his head behind the ears while he had one hand on her back and the other on her hip― _under_ the nightgown.

“Does Ned still have a key card?” she asked, short of breath, eyes half-open.

“Left it by the TV.” Peter swallowed and his fingers squeezed her skin. “We’re alone.”

“Take off your shirt.”

He laughed in surprise.

“’K.”

God, those abs were arresting. She stared for a minute. Seriously, people would pay admission to see this, like Michelangelo’s _David_.

“I brought you something,” MJ said. She reached back across the bed and grabbed the eye mask. Rummaging past it in her backpack had sparked an idea that she thought Peter might appreciate.

“Well, that’s… kinky.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t _buy_ it for you. Look.” MJ held it so Peter could see the outside. “It’s baby blue and it’s a cartoon bear face. It matches my other pajamas.”

He kept staring at her, looking like he wanted to laugh.

“Dammit, Parker, I just thought covering your eyes would let you enjoy it more. I remember what you said about light sensitivity and―”

“It’s a good idea,” he interrupted her. “Though I’m going to miss seeing you.”

“Tough.”

He snorted.

“Or you could go with ‘you can take it off whenever you want, Peter.’”

“Wimp.”

“Bully.”

MJ kissed him, then looked at the eye mask thoughtfully.

“Maybe wear it this way,” she said, flipping it so the sleepy cartoon faced inward. “I won’t be able to see much when I turn the light off either, but I sure as hell don’t want to be staring at that while I, you know.”

“I _don’t_ know actually.” Peter grinned, already full of self-satisfaction for who knew what reason. Probably thought this had been his idea. He slipped the band over his head, mask resting on his forehead. “I won’t have a clue what you’re going to do next.”

She yanked the mask down over his eyes.

“Again, I say: tough. Spider-Man,” she added.

Peter groaned and MJ held off on getting the light. This was a superhero. Blindfolded, legs spread, naked from the waist up. The front of his pajamas still protruded from kissing her. The track of fine brown hair descending from his navel would have been distracting if she had something else she was supposed to be looking at. But this was it for her this evening. Schedule clear. Itinerary blank. She reached over to the nightstand and turned off the light.

Deciding to start where she never had before, MJ tilted her head down and kissed Peter’s chest. He didn’t flinch; even without the light, his other senses probably helped him feel and hear her approach. Whatever. Despite the teasing, it didn’t actually matter to her whether or not he knew what she was going to do next. She’d never meant for this to be a surprise. It was like she’d said―she just wanted Peter submerged deeper into the experience.

She held his shoulders and eased him back more into his pillows as she continued to move her lips across his skin. Peter’s hands suddenly found her breasts, cupping them over her nightgown. Yeah, this nerd’s spatial awareness was fine. He massaged lightly and the fabric raised her nipples. MJ sighed and kissed him. Peter held her tight against him, making the room seem pretty warm after all. His tongue against hers was getting her wet and, gripping the back of his neck to keep their mouths together, she shifted to straddle his hips. He made a low groan as she wiggled into place.

With a few subtle yet well-aimed rolls of his hips, MJ was panting, pulling her face away to breathe. Her eyes had been adjusting while they kissed, making Peter’s body less of a mystery when she looked at him.

“Now your pants,” she instructed breathily. “Take off your pants.”

He had to work around her because she didn’t want to go away from him, and he managed fine. MJ kept a hand on his abs―for balance, obviously. Bottoms shucked, Peter exhaled slowly and laid his palms on her thighs.

“Is this… are you enjoying this?” she checked as a tiny shiver of anticipation went up her back.

“I love this,” Peter muttered. She had to replay that in her head; some trick of her hearing.

MJ settled her weight on his thighs and drew her nightgown up. His hands followed impatiently right behind the retreating hem, fingers rushing up her body like time-lapse shadows. She caught one before it could start tugging her nipple the way his other hand was and guided it between her legs. While Peter stopped being overwhelmed (his chest was rising and falling quickly and his mouth twitched), MJ handled his erection with a gentle grip.

His fingers slipped swiftly through her wetness and hooked into her. Reflexively, she hunched downward and Peter’s other hand darted from her chest around to her back, cradling her against him. It was weirdly sweet and possessive at the same time, and then MJ wasn’t sure how to define it when Peter jostled her over onto her back.

Shoulder blades hitting his small mountain of pillows, she let herself flop back into them. She trailed her fingers down Peter’s stomach and took his length in hand again. Reminding herself that Peter couldn’t see her, MJ parted her legs even wider and felt her pulse throb there when he rubbed her from the inside. They seemed to be coming closer and closer together, although it was really only Peter who moved. She was stroking him, leading him, and then her hand was in the way and so was his, and he was grinding himself up and down the strip of her arousal while MJ, who could hardly breathe, held fast to the back of his neck.

Luckily, Peter hurriedly said, “Condoms on the table,” or else she would’ve folded her legs around his and pulled him all the way in.

She was getting better at this condom thing though, even in the dark. The very private act of unrolling it down Peter’s throbbing cock was something to be treasured, savoured, like the way her boyfriend shook and gasped when she did it. MJ took slippery grasp of the back of his neck again (her palms had gotten sweaty at some point) and tremulously lined up their mouths for a kiss. The pulls of their lips were quick and sloppy, giving her space to moan when Peter abruptly fed the tip of his erection into her, then rocked deeper.

“This is awesome,” he said. MJ almost laughed.

“What?” She lifted her hips, encouraging him to press in further.

“Without sight, I almost get to… it’s like I get you twice.”

“What do you mean?”

He swayed his hips out and in and MJ laid a hand against the side of his face, ducking under the eye mask to run along his cheekbone.

“I feel you _here_ , but I’m picturing you too, but, like, all at the same time.”

“I’m gonna need more than that,” she said.

Peter thrust deep and she cried out.

“I meant the explanation, but please _god_ do that again.”

He did and she clung to him tightly as he expounded.

“It’s like having the real thing and a fantasy at the same time. Keep thinking about you in that shower.” The muscles she had wrapped around his dick contracted and he gasped. “Could’ve gone right through the wall to get to you, you know?”

MJ laughed deliriously as their hips moved faster together. He felt _so_ good.

“I didn’t even lock the door.”

“Did you want me to―”

“Always want you,” she said and wrapped her leg around the back of his thigh, forcing him hard inside her.

Peter ducked his head, nose bumping her collarbone, and worked solely with his hips. His hands clutched to the uppermost pillow supporting MJ, forearms propping him up and framing her shoulders. Craning her neck, MJ sat up just enough to kiss his flexing bicep, then his jaw. He abruptly lowered his angle, which pulled at her clit from the outside. Fuck, it was almost fucking perfect… Peter jolted into her.

“There,” MJ urged. “Theretheretheretherethere.”

She came, her body heaving with his as orgasm tossed her around like an unrealistically satisfying salad. Peter’s arms slipped under her back, fingers fitting into the bumps of her spine, and bucked until he joined her. His face rubbed along the pillow and he panted her name in her ear. MJ’s hips kept jerking, wringing the last seconds of pleasure out of the pressure on her clit. As they settled, she pushed the eye mask up until the elastic made it spring from his head, disappearing in the dark hotel room.

Peter sighed exhaustedly and kissed her, smooshing her deep into the pillows. She slung her arms around his neck, equally tired, and did nothing but kiss him back until a small amount of energy returned to her.

They got up, one at a time, to use the washroom. On her turn, MJ groaned against the harsh light and pressed her face into the crook of her elbow. Electricity was bad and inhuman and she just couldn’t think of anything good about it while she was this tired and longing so much for the dark where Peter was waiting. There was really nothing like an agonisingly long bus ride combined with an exquisite round of sex to get a person ready for bed, MJ decided.

She scurried back into the bedroom on feet cold from bathroom tiles. Feeling blindly for her nightgown, MJ retrieved it from the floor and put it on. Peter took his cue from her and sat up to find his pajama bottoms. Sleeping naked beside him sounded nice (like, _really_ nice), but she felt less sure about the waking _up_ naked beside him part. Not yet. It made her feel a little too vulnerable, plus it would definitely be a distraction in the morning when she needed to be making a quick getaway back to her room to dress and prep for day one of the tournament.

“Shhh,” Peter said sleepily, tugging her close when she crawled under the covers. He kissed her temple, then her cheek.

“Wasn’t talking,” she murmured.

“I’m shushing your brain.”

MJ said, “Dork,” around a yawn.

She was fading fast and, with very little change in positions, found herself sinking towards unconsciousness, her cheek squished up against Peter’s shoulder. He mumbled something, pulling her body against his even more, but MJ was too wiped to trust that she hadn’t misheard him.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my wizard god, over 30,000 hits on this story. *deep breathing into a brown paper bag* Thank you to everyone who's left a comment. I'm reading them. I'm savouring them. I'm stuffing them greedily into my pockets as we approach the end of this story. Seriously, this fic would've been dead in the water long ago without your encouragement and support. I've felt welcomed into this fandom with open arms.

XXXI

Peter was grateful for how rested he felt on Saturday morning. It was a nice surprise, though on reflection, he realized that they’d probably fallen asleep just after 10pm. _They_. Him and MJ. MJ and him. Waking up slowly and becoming aware that he had an arm around her and her head on his shoulder had been surreal. Even if, right after that, MJ had been roused by his slight shifting and sprung right up before her eyes were totally open. It had been just shy of 6:30am, but she’d been up and out of the room in under five minutes. Fortunately, Peter understood having to interrupt your private life with your larger responsibilities.

They met up again in the hotel’s breakfast room, both trying to look like they hadn’t seen each other in the past 12 hours or so. Being the first to arrive, Peter, MJ, and Cindy staked out the biggest table for the team to congregate at. Once everybody had shown up and gotten a little orange juice in them, MJ had begun captaining while Mr. Harrington sat back with a proud smile. Her coaching had seemed to come in waves as they poured milk on their bowls of cereal and spread jam on their bagels: the stark but motivational words, the warnings to keep them from costing the team points by breaking some obscure rule, and―once they were up to full energy―the questions she fired randomly around the table.

Whatever MJ’s secret to leadership was, it had worked for them so far, carrying the team triumphantly through their first two matches of the round robin. The wait between their second bout and the upcoming third was longer than one between the first two had been and Peter was getting antsy. The convention centre’s large exhibition room was cordoned off visually―a square of floor for each team at the tournament―but aurally… the noise was getting to be a lot. They were all sitting on the floor together and Peter, eyes closed, was just listening to Ned and Betty’s calm conversation, trying to focus on them rather than the other who knew how many people talking all around them.

MJ took his hand, out of nowhere. Well, not really out of nowhere, because she had been sitting next to him, working on keeping Cindy from flipping out, but the way they’d been downplaying their relationship today made the gesture a surprise. She didn’t say anything (not to him, just continued telling Cindy to take deeper breaths), only ran her thumb along the side of his finger and kept their palms pressed tight.

Their school was called and led by a tournament volunteer to one of the large meeting rooms where these preliminary round robin matches were taking place. MJ halted her team at the door; it made Peter feel strong to look at her. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he sensed the others needing something, one last rallying cry to pull them together after the chaos of the exhibition floor. MJ stared at them.

“You nerds aren’t this smart for nothing. Let’s go win another one. Business as usual.”

…So, not exactly an Oscar acceptance speech, but this was more her anyway. Cindy let out a slightly hysterical laugh, which Peter hoped released just the right amount of nervous energy from her, leaving enough to keep her buzzer response the fastest he’d seen (outside of the supernatural).

“That’s, uh, the spirit,” Mr. Harrington contributed uncertainly. “And if all goes well, next stop: Cedar Point!”

As they were ushered into the room, Peter worked Ned’s shoulders like his best bud was a prize fighter. Betty adjusted her headband. Flash attempted to give the already-present other team the finger, until MJ smacked him upside the head and hissed in his ear about point deductions. Peter believed in hard work and being ready for the unexpected, but everyone’s little rituals gave him a different sort of comfort.

Whatever it was―the precise height of Cindy’s ponytail, the fact that Abe wore his lucky socks, or the ease with which Peter could recall Dr. Banner’s steady voice helping him study―it got them through another round, which meant…

“SEMI-FINALS, BABY!” Flash screamed the second they were out of the building.

Peter figured MJ must have really threatened Flash for him to hold it in that long, or the guy had finally gained some sensitivity and didn’t want to upset those inside who wouldn’t be progressing out of the round robin. Yeah, probably the former.

“What did I tell you?” Abe checked, grabbing Mr. Harrington’s arm. “These socks? So lucky! I’m not taking them off until we win the whole thing.”

Their teacher frowned.

“I don’t know if, in the interest of fostering your good personal hygiene, I could really encourage…”

Peter quit listening and pulled MJ into his side. Their hips bumped awkwardly, but they quickly worked out their rhythm.

“You’re a legend,” he told her with a grin, already knowing how she’d take the compliment.

Sure enough, MJ rolled her eyes. Peter squeezed her waist.

“What?” Ned said, just ahead of him.

Wanting to give his best friend some privacy (Ned and Betty were doing that whole occasional-brush-of-the-hands thing while they walked), Peter had been averting his gaze, but now he wanted to know what was up. He grabbed Ned’s shoulder.

“Room party tonight,” he informed Peter. “At Flash’s.”

Peter looked at Betty, then at Flash on her other side; it was clear the path this sudden news had travelled. They all turned to MJ. She gave them a flat look back.

“What? I’m your captain, not your prison guard. Will somebody do the obvious warnings so I don’t cancel out what I just said?”

“We’ll keep it down,” Peter started. “We don’t need someone reporting us for noise.”

“And no drinking, obviously,” Betty added. Flash looked betrayed. “What?” his friend demanded. “I know you didn’t pack any alcohol and there’s no way we’re raiding the minibar; the charge would end up on the bill and Mr. Harrington would see it.”

“Which is almost beside the point when we consider that we don’t want to be feeling like crap for the semi-final tomorrow,” Cindy reminded him. “We need to be alert! Energized!” She was smacking her fist into her palm and MJ reached out to stop her.

“Fine,” Flash reluctantly conceded. “Just music and all the junk food you can carry.”

“Won’t it be crowded?” Ned checked.

“There really aren’t that many of us,” Flash said. “And I’m more than willing to rearrange the hideous furniture to make room. Penis can stand in the bathroom.”

Peter offered a sarcastic smile.

“‘We few,’” MJ quoted as they caught up to Mr. Harrington, “‘we happy few.’”

“No more smart shit,” Flash demanded. “It’s rollercoaster time, fuckers.”

* * *

The sun was out and strong enough for Peter to take off his light jacket and hang it over the back of his chair. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back. There was an undercurrent in his mind―a riptide that continuously pulled him back to alertness during patrols and missions―but today, it was only the anticipation of their return to the tournament tomorrow. He could leave it alone, flowing beneath his other thoughts, until they were back in Queens.

“I think we may need to nix the junk food from tonight’s room party requirements,” MJ observed.

Betty, head down on the table, nodded dejectedly. Her mouth was a deathly shade of blue from the slushy she’d downed too fast.

“How’s the brain freeze doing?” Ned asked her, leaning in caringly.

“Six more weeks of winter,” she mumbled back.

Peter didn’t have anything to show for his own feast; he’d recycled the paper plate that had held his pizza slices, though not before surprisingly aggressive birds made off with the crust. Not everyone respected Spider-Man.

He didn’t regret whiling away the last of their theme park time sitting at this table. (The junk food regret, however, was tangible.) Rides were awesome and all, but his real life―his other life―filled up his thrill quota. Speed, height, sudden drops? The superhero gig had those covered. A bunch of the others had run off to cram their remaining downtime with rollercoasters, but Peter, MJ, Ned, and Betty had opted for sun on their faces rather than wind in their hair.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day?” Peter asked MJ while Ned spoke quietly to Betty (seemed like that was going well).

She stretched back in her chair, extending her arms and intertwining her fingers. _You’re in a public place_ , Peter reminded himself. _You can stop yourself from staring_. He took a swallow of soda to distract himself.

“Well,” MJ said, slumping forward again with her elbows resting on her knees, “the idea of making sweet, sweet love to you sounds good.”

Peter coughed, choking on his drink.

* * *

It was incredible, the kinds of things Peter had picked up from hanging around serious superheroes. There was stuff that he really couldn’t apply to his everyday life, like the odd Russian swear word or the date of somebody’s cousin’s birthday, but some things had practical applications.

“Ned says Mr. Harrington’s still at the bar,” Peter told MJ, reading the text he’d just received.

He had stationed the members of their team (decathlon, not super taskforce) around the lobby and other communal areas to clandestinely track their teacher’s location after arriving back at the hotel from Cedar Point. What Peter really wanted for this pseudo-mission was a walkie-talkie; despite his appeals and liberal use of the word ‘retro,’ Mr. Stark had given the suggestion a flat look and an even flatter ‘no.’

MJ checked her own phone.

“Betty and Abe just did a pass. She says Harrington’s sitting with a couple of teachers from eliminated teams.”

“Probably a confab,” Cindy put in, leaning out of Flash’s doorway. “They might as well give up their tips now to a team that can actually use them.”

“Or it’s just an excuse for Mr. Harrington to get a drink after the stress of bringing us all the way from Queens without a single incident,” MJ countered.

Peter turned his attention back to his phone with a grin. He texted the classmates still posted on surveillance, telling them to start retreating to Flash’s hotel room. They’d been slowly withdrawing over the past 15 minutes. Flash complained that it was overkill. Peter ‘accidentally’ let the door close in his face.

Ned came around the corner right as Peter glanced up. MJ was jiggling the handle of Flash’s door.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked.

“Cindy won’t let me in without a password.”

With a suppressed chuckle, he spoke close to the crack of the door.

“We’re not doing that, remember?”

“What if one of you is Mr. Harrington?” came from the other side of the door.

“You can literally hear our voices,” MJ argued.

The door flew open and Flash ushered them in while Cindy frowned.

“This spy shit is taking all night,” he declared. “How many are we missing?”

Ned leaned back out.

“Betty and Abe are here. That’s everybody.”

The last two slipped inside and everyone took a second to grin at each other, Peter included. Maybe he’d tell Ms. Romanoff about the successful operation he’d run while in Cleveland and she could give him some pointers for his next one.

“Anybody have any preferences for music?” Flash asked, gaze on his phone.

“How about nothing you can start a ‘Penis Parker’ call-and-response to?” Peter suggested.

“Preferences I’m willing to accommodate?”

Peter gave up and went to help Cindy slide one of the beds against the wall, creating more space in the middle of the room.

“You’re good at this,” she commented. “Getting lots of practice?”

For a second, Peter wondered if he’d moved it too fast or too easily. Had she caught an accidental display of super-strength?

“R-rearranging furniture?” he stammered, trying to get his bearings.

“Bumping beds into walls.”

“WOW!” MJ said, walking over and steering her friend away. “Ok, as your captain, I’m using my authority to terminate this conversation and reassign you to snack inventory with Betty.”

Peter stood there, rubbing the back of his neck and mildly panicking until his girlfriend returned. Flash had the Spice Girls playing in the background and across the room Ned gave an enthusiastic yell around a mouthful of potato chips.

“So, Cindy’s not subtle,” Peter noted when MJ returned.

“She kind of has one setting. At least she doesn’t care. I mean, she _cares_ ,” she clarified, “but about me more than the team. She would never have ratted us out for the rooming situation.”

He put his arm around her waist, a grin sneaking up on one side of his mouth when MJ blushed and thought glaring at him would somehow hide it.

“Oh, the ‘situation.’ Right.”

MJ punched his shoulder playfully.

“Shut up, dork. You wanted me to show up at your door.”

“I’ll tell you what I want,” Peter promised, pulling her over to where the others had started dancing loosely to their own terrible, making-it-up-as-they-went-along choreography. “What I really, really want.”

“You are so embarrassing.”

“What? I haven’t even started yet. You think I just keep missing school dances? They won’t let me in,” Peter joked. “I’m that bad.”

He started copying whatever the hell Ned was doing, MJ resisting next to him until Cindy and Betty squeezed in to sandwich her between them, singing along. Peter was glad Flash hadn’t gotten his hands on any alcohol, because the guy was enough of a handful sober; he had to nudge Betty to get her to prevent her friend from breaking his neck as he began doing poorly-executed flips, bouncing on one of the mattresses. Peter knew he could show Flash a thing or two, no springs necessary, but he didn’t need to blow his cover after being relatively careful for so long. This weekend wasn’t for Spider-Man―it was for Peter.

“You wanna know yet?” he asked MJ, pulling her back towards him by her hips.

She turned around, leaned her forehead into his, and suddenly they were slow dancing to ‘Wannabe.’

“Know what?” Her eyebrows raised, asking to be impressed.

“What I really, really want,” he said softly.

MJ’s mouth twitched.

“Yeah, ok.”

Peter moved his head so he could speak near her ear. He kept smiling when he occasionally made eye contact with one of the others, attempting to look as innocent as possible; it was weird to do that on purpose, since he’d been told by too many people that ‘innocent’ was his default expression.

“To stay with our friends just long enough that it’s not suspicious when we sneak off,” he confessed, “and then to make sure you sleep really, _really_ well so you’re ready to captain us in the semi-final tomorrow.”

“Considerate.”

“I thought so,” Peter said lightly.

His heart was racing as he and MJ kept glancing at one another; he didn’t know about her, but he was overly aware of her body now. Maybe it was for the best that the first dance they’d gone to together was one they could leave whenever they wanted, knowing they had a hotel room right down the hall.

They lasted four more songs and made a break for it when Cindy began shouting over the music to quiz the others.

At the door of what had become Peter and MJ’s room (she’d moved the rest of her stuff in post-Cedar Point), MJ made herself useful by swiping the key card―after she’d gotten very handsy and slipped her hand into Peter’s front pocket to retrieve it. Feeling her palm warm on his leg through the thin cotton of his jeans pocket had him hardening before they crossed the threshold. Disregarding everything he knew about germs, Peter snatched the key card back out of the lock and clamped it between his teeth as they hurried into the room. MJ’s quick pulse was practically vibrating through the air. He had his hands all over her.

His attempt to keep track of the key card failed when she grabbed it and let it fall somewhere in the dark entryway. (Switching lights on would have been an inconvenience.) MJ’s mouth was swiftly on his; her lips came first, then the rest of her, and Peter let her push him into the wall. He was smiling into the kiss, excited, but even his excitement couldn’t keep the smile propped up when his girlfriend moved her lips to his neck as she hastily unfastened his jeans. He was gasping when she gave him a split-second, searching look and sank to her knees. His head hadn’t spun like this since he’d hurtled into outer space.

“Whoa, whoa,” Peter mumbled, shifting his feet. But then, “ _Whoa_ ,” much more awed, when she slid his jeans and boxers down and her lips skimmed his abdomen.

He couldn’t look. The faint touch of her mouth on his skin followed by the light exhale through her nose got him fully hard. Some part of his mind spun off on a tangent, wondering whether his strength or his durability would win out as he hoped not to break his own teeth from clenching his jaw so hard. Dear Thor, MJ didn’t make it easy to keep control.

“I haven’t done this before,” he heard her mutter quickly, then she had her tongue pressed flat to his erection, licking up the length.

Typical. She wasn’t really the kind of person who waited for reassurance from anyone but herself. Which was… which was fine.

“Doesn’t bother me,” Peter said in a high voice that clearly screamed ‘no big deal.’

He was staring at the ceiling hard enough to have burned a hole in it (if that was his thing―which, so far, it wasn’t, but when you could walk vertically up glass, you didn’t rule things out) and it started feeling like bad manners, like he was ignoring his girlfriend when she ran her mouth over the head of his dick as though measuring for an imminent action that would cause him to embarrass himself. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit_ , he thought.

The idea of having bad manners collided with his hopeful prophesy of what her open mouth might feel like in approximately five seconds from now and Peter made a colossal mistake. He looked down.

MJ had her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and the image of himself digging his hands into her hair, maybe tugging that ponytail, had Peter automatically reaching down towards the back of her head. He felt her tongue emerge from between barely parted lips and make contact. Peter jerked his arm back and put a hole in the wall.

Landing back on her ass, MJ looked up at him, stunned. He withdrew his fist from drywall with a totally awkward laugh that would in no way convince anyone that everything was cool. She stood and found a light switch that brightened the nightstand lamps between the beds. Peter hastily yanked his boxers up. _Talk your way out of his one, idiot_ , his inner voice dared.

“Why, um, why don’t we just―”

“How have we not been taking advantage of all your freaky shit?” she demanded.

“Wait, what?”

“I know you’ve got super-strength and an imagination that might be as dirty as mine. There has to be something you want to try. Peter,” MJ requested, taking a step closer, “use your powers.”

Yeah, maybe Peter didn’t have a notebook full of nudes, but the fact that his catalogue of fantasies was entirely mental didn’t mean he never wanted to show them to her. After some thought. And time to prepare by practicing the conversation a hundred different ways in front of his bathroom mirror at home. And―

“Use your powers, Spider-Man.”

His gaze met hers. MJ lowered her eyelids the way she did when she was about to say something cuttingly sarcastic, but the expression in her eyes was a searing flame. Peter’s feet hit the firm institutional carpeting with deliberate steps, but he couldn’t say he really felt his legs, aside from almost tripping with his jeans around his ankles. He just moved towards her, practically fell into her, simply knew that he had his girlfriend in his arms and that her shirt was soft under the palms he raced all over her back. Swiftly, he kicked free of his shoes and jeans.

Peter felt like he was living in the tips of his fingers, the goosebumps on the back of his neck, and the very top layer of his skin. And he might jump out of that skin any second. MJ had her hands low on his back, then driving his body against hers, palms on his ass. He flinched as his erection made contact with her abdomen through his boxers. They held still a minute, Peter’s hips curving into MJ’s, MJ’s uneven breathing on his neck. She rocked a little against him. He rocked a little back. Slowly, she raised one leg, the inner part of her thigh brushing the outer part of his.

He didn’t know what she was going for―besides making him crave the warmth she’d exposed by opening up her hips like that―but Peter was working with a fuller complement of reactions now, since his girlfriend had invoked the participation of his alter ego. His hungry fingers crept down over the back pockets of her jeans and jerked her to him, more forceful than the move she’d made a minute ago. When MJ leaned her shoulders back into the wall, Peter unbalanced her, grabbing for her at the place where her ass became her thigh.

“You got me?” she checked, eyebrow up.

“I got you.”

MJ glanced down over his shoulder and Peter grinned as her eyes widened; she was off the ground a little more than he guessed she’d thought she was. While hoisting her into a one-handed grip, he’d bounced subtly off the floor to touch his toes to the wall. The fingers of his other hand were splayed, all five tips making contact with the wall about a foot from MJ’s head.

She released a breath through loose lips.

“Is this ok?” he asked, earnest eyes probing hers.

“Yeah, it’s…”

As her voice wandered off, her gaze went with it. MJ didn’t look like she was worrying, so Peter didn’t worry either, but she was definitely thinking. He attempted to do the one thing he was really not so good at: be patient. Having her ass perched in his hand and her thigh around his hip made it sort of a struggle. _Wait_ , he thought in the direction of his groin. So ridiculous, like he was commanding an overeager dog.

“Can you hold me while I get out of my jeans?”

Peter’s eyes flashed to MJ’s.

“P-probably―” His dick yearned. “―but it’ll be awkward.”

“Set me down then.”

Peter lowered her immediately.

“Stay,” she said with a pointed index finger. Ok, again with the dog thing.

While she unbuttoned and unzipped, Peter enjoyed the novelty of being a few inches taller. The sensation wasn’t really about him though, it was about her. He looked down on MJ’s face and studied her eyelashes and cheekbones. She was…

“…so pretty,” he finished aloud.

MJ glanced up at him wryly.

“Dork.”

“Hey! I’m allowed to tell you how I feel,” Peter argued, even though it felt a little weird, being braced against the wall in a sweatshirt and his underwear. Whatever. He put it in perspective with the general weirdness of his life.

MJ crossed her arms. He rolled his eyes and dropped to the floor in front of her.

“Ok, tell me how you feel.”

Peter’s mouth opened, but his tongue was malfunctioning. MJ laughed.

“Do I need to…?” She began to crouch, like she was going back to her knees and Peter laughed frantically.

“I think I deserve a chance to make _you_ the one losing their mind.”

“You got a superpower for that?” she challenged.

Something rumbled awake in his chest and he eyed her, bottom to top.

“Get rid of the shirt and panties and I’ll show you exactly what I’ve got.”

MJ’s chin drew back, but she evidently bought into his boldness, because she pulled her shirt over her head and whipped it at the ground. Peter’s erection _strained_ , so he pushed his shorts down his legs before yanking his sweatshirt off. He caught her mouth with his, tongue diving in while his palms found the wall to either side of her, hips moving forward as well. The feel of her underwear being released purposefully against his leg let him know they were off. His hand travelled back to her ass, hoisted. As he inched up the wall again, Peter had to keep himself from clenching his jaw (which would’ve severed a chunk from each of their tongues) when her slick center made passing contact with his dick. Yes, there was going to need to be a lot more of that.

He ground against her, feeling his back tense with his excitement, with his vague grasp for self-control. Peter crawled them a little higher up the wall, but MJ moved the opposite way, gripping his shoulders to get her legs into full straddling position. He closed his eyes and exhaled gustily.

“Come on, Spider-Man,” she sing-songed into his ear.

Peter groaned and slid his hand from her ass to her back, pressing her tight to him as his mouth worked her neck thoroughly with kisses. If he hadn’t hung on through more demanding conditions than this, he might’ve fallen off the wall when MJ reached between them, grasped his dick, and rubbed it unhurriedly against her wetness. He bucked.

Fleetingly, his brain came back online.

“Shit. Condom.”

MJ gave him a very superior smile and withdrew a square from a cup of the bra she still had on.

“How did you…?”

“My jeans have small, shitty pockets. I’m practical.”

“You’re perfect.”

He nearly trembled while she unrolled it down his length, looking downward to watch her do it. Peter felt more want than he’d thought would be scientifically possible, with her, like this. There had to be a word for this.

“I want you so bad,” she said.

“I think your grammar is flawed.”

Peter let her line them up, then thrust in, making MJ gasp. The condom wrapper went fluttering down. He couldn’t stop smiling. This was going to be so, so fun.

“Just hold on,” he suggested, and though his girlfriend gave him a look, her arms came around his shoulders and the muscles of her legs tensed.

This. This was a moment that made Peter glad his powers hadn’t been designed for him. Hadn’t been gifted or bestowed for a purpose or agenda. That he wasn’t Iron Man, with his thousand-and-one algorithms created for specific tasks, or Captain America, with the hopes of all Allied countries swirling in the serum that had turned him super. Peter could and would help the Avengers as much and for as long as he was able, but he really only belonged to himself. To her. And his powers were for them, because right now, that was the call he was making.

Their skin stuck and slid, their joining and their mouths filling this narrow hotel room hallway like fireflies in a jar―each breath a spark. Honestly, this wasn’t the way Peter had fantasized incorporating his powers would go, but sex against the Empire State Building was kind of an extravagant thought. It was better here though, so much better in this room they were sharing. He was pumping his hips and MJ was angling hers for more and completely fucking up his hair with her fingers skating through and latching on when he drove into her harder.

Maybe it was the distance from the floor, or the way MJ kept sending wisps of words that sounded like “Spider-Man” past his ear, but it made Peter more… not reckless, but daring, like he was when he wore the suit. He went after the pleasured noises that came from them both, chased them down like criminals. MJ trusted him more with every thrust, slumping deeper into his lap, and Peter could’ve laughed, because she would never get heavy for him. He’d never need to set her down.

He was ecstatic, hips moving fast and shallow while MJ gripped his neck. The feel of her nipples against his chest through her bra made him wild. Peter kissed her until she broke away with a smile. He turned that smile into a mouth stretched open in desire with a precise jab from below.

“Come, Spider-Man,” she encouraged.

 _Not_ ‘ _come on_ ,’ he thought. _Oh_.

Peter tussled his face into her neck and strove again and again and again with his hips until he released. He was afraid to open his eyes at first, just in case he’d somehow flung them both through the wall. But MJ probably would’ve said something. Her face was so close when he did look at her that he was certain he couldn’t have missed any words of alarm.

“You didn’t…”

His enthusiasm belly-flopped on the surface of his sudden embarrassment. MJ quickly covered his mouth with her hand. Her chest was swelling and falling and Peter ran a hand over her back lightly.

“I wanted you to,” she promised. “That was… an experience.”

The upward twitch to her mouth assured him this was praise and Peter blushed hard. It was time to pull out, but also time to make his girlfriend as flustered as she made him. Holding her close, he jumped less than a foot to the floor. They glanced at each other. It was kind of funny to be standing there naked. Oops, and he should really get rid of this condom.

“One sec,” he said, holding a stern, raised finger to her as he jogged to the bathroom.

Inside, Peter caught his wide-eyed reflection in the mirror. That guy looked like he was having a good night. Peter grinned back at him.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, head turning towards the door. “And don’t get dressed,” he called to MJ. Immediately, he crumpled his expression inward, wondering if that had come out too bossy. She didn’t say anything back.

Unsure if he’d just been a total idiot, Peter washed his hands and swung the door open. The clothes MJ had had on were in a pile on top of her suitcase. MJ herself was standing beside the bed, dropping the straps of her unfastened bra down her arms. His jaw decided to test the limits of its range, hanging abruptly―and maybe hilariously―open.

She noticed him staring and snorted an uncomfortable laugh.

“Why are you looking at me like that, dork? You didn’t say anything about subtracting clothes, so I figured…”

Peter’s mouth was as dry as his hands had gotten when he’d shuffled through all those quiz cards during revision with Dr. Banner. It was as dry as the stale air on the bus they’d taken to get here. As dry as the unending sands of Jakku. _Peter, you idiot, quit thinking about_ Star Wars _!_

“No, no,” he promised, waving his arms in too big a gesture thanks to the way she overwhelmed him. “This is good. Fine. Good.”

“Peter.” He meekly met her eyes. “Kiss me.”

Swiftly, he had her back on the bed, breathing shaky breaths in a line down her chest. His bottom lip trailed across her skin; he couldn’t make up his mind whether he’d rather lick or kiss. One answer was the loose, tonguing kisses he began as he got to the end of her ribs and started heading for her navel. How was she going to react to this?

“Parker?” she asked when Peter shifted his whole body backward, down the bed, so he could keep the kisses going.

“I _think_ that’s Spider-Man to you, Miss,” he joked, biting lightly next to her bellybutton.

He actually felt her pulse jump beneath her skin. Maybe not quite a joke then.

“Spider-Man… we…”

Wow, what was this? She was struggling for words. Oh, he _liked_ this. Peter stopped moving back and moved in towards MJ’s body instead. Her thighs got the idea and swept outward to give his shoulders space.

“You say ‘no,’ I’ll stop.”

Peter raised his head to find her eyes. They were hazy in a face with pinked cheeks. He watched her breathe. Watched her nod.

“You… want to do what I think you’re doing?” she checked.

He smiled and grabbed her hand.

“I could do it suspended from the ceiling instead,” Peter offered. His head tilted jerkily in consideration. “From the wall? You could put your legs against the wall like this with your feet up―” He gestured. “―and I could be facedown…” She laughed giddily. “I want to do it. If you’ll let me. Position doesn’t matter. In the suit, or out of it.”

“I like the suit,” MJ said with a sly, suggestive smile.

“Oh, I _know_ you like the suit.” He was getting cocky now.

“But this is good. As long as you’re still Spider-Man,” she teased.

Peter shifted and kissed the inside of her bent knee.

“Yeah. You wanna see my powers?”

Silence really suited MJ. Not because he didn’t like hearing her speak, but because she was so special that she didn’t need words. She only had to direct those eyes at him and things just made sense. That and the seemingly unconscious way she chewed her lower lip told him plenty.

Peter let his lips glide all the way along her inner thigh, his supernatural senses picking up the steady increase in temperature the farther he went from her knee. He was getting hot too―hot because he was about to devour his girlfriend’s naked body, and hot from a flush of fear at the belated realization that he’d just implied a certain oral prowess. And he had no idea what he was doing.

Fuck it. If superpowers couldn’t help him now, he really wasn’t Spider-Man. It was another test of whether he deserved the suit, just one that there was no way in hell Mr. Stark was ever finding out about. Except that one day, _maybe_ , Peter would thank him for the spying that led to him confronting his feelings for MJ. Or never.

Listening hard to MJ’s breathing, Peter lifted his mouth from her thigh and hovered between her legs. Her faint panting was like a metal detector for lust, coming stronger when he intentionally exhaled from his mouth so that it would reach her. He’d already orgasmed though, so while the fleeting thought of teasing the crap out of MJ was tempting, Peter didn’t want her to have to wait any longer than necessary.

He applied the same open-mouth kiss that he’d given her stomach, letting his tongue slip where she was wettest. MJ let out a formless yelp. Peter grinned to himself. Shuffling in closer on his elbows, he slowly wrapped his arms around her thighs from underneath, so that his hands could gently stroke the top of them. He heard her shivering breath.

Kissing her again the same way, Peter felt MJ adjust her hips minutely. He followed the unspoken direction, guiding his tongue up and across her clit. She exhaled and inhaled again like someone was giving her chest compressions.

“Shhh,” Peter told her, glancing quickly up. “If you scream, they might call someone.”

“Yeah,” she laughed a single laugh, “like Spider-Man.”

With a goofy smile, he licked more firmly over her clit. MJ’s head tossed and her mouth clamped shut. Continuing to listen to her breathing, take her pulse with a small press of his cheek to her inner thigh, and read the other signals she was giving him through her slight movements, Peter began to feel that he was learning this skill. She made a deep “unnh” sound when he probed inside her with his tongue, tensing it to be as stiff as possible as he traced her front wall. But even then, his nose nudged her clit and Peter knew where she needed him. She _needed_ him. His heart played hopscotch.

He honed in, using flicks of his tongue until MJ suddenly grabbed his hair. He glanced up. She glanced down and threw her hand away. Peter looked at her steadily, reached for her wrist, and brought her hand back to his head. Her eyes looked nervous, so he folded his fingers over hers until they tightened in his hair. The possessiveness Peter felt for her was ready to burn through his skin.

With the warmth of her palm on his head, he went at her clit quickly again. His fingers squeezed her thighs greedily. MJ began to moan and Peter slowed his licking with the sound, dragging everything out and pressing harder.

“Man, I love you,” he said when she came with a sharp hitch of her hips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone bummed by the existence of endnotes? Come on, you guys. You've gotten six sex scenes (say that five times fast) in this story! SIX! That's the most I've ever written for a single fic. Surely you don't expect another one before this story is over, right?
> 
> P.S. Peter is a Baby Spice in the streets and a Ginger Spice in the sheets. And no, I will not be taking criticism.


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are at the second last chapter, BUT IT'S NOT OVER YET. Peter may have some hero-ing yet to do, the team definitely has a decathlon final to conquer, and MJ... well, I think we're all waiting on a little something from her too.
> 
> Thank you, always, for your kind comments!

XXXII

Peter might’ve slept physically wrapped around MJ, but he’d also slept with her silence wrapped around _him_. She wouldn’t have needed his Spidey senses to hear what he’d said to her―those little words that there were supposed to be three of, where he’d blurted out four. It figured; it had taken long enough for everything he was feeling for her―everything he’d _been_ feeling for her for weeks―to make its way from emotions into words. To congeal, like the cheap liquid cheese they always gave you with nachos at sporting events (he was a big fan, of the cheese). To solidify, like water changing its state to become ice. He hadn’t settled on the right metaphor, despite the quiet time he’d had to think after MJ had fallen asleep.

His gaze kept going back to her during their combination breakfast-and-rapid-fire-trivia-round with the team and a faintly hungover-looking Mr. Harrington. Peter thought of the words they _had_ said last night, watching her mouth move as she coached her teammates in the present, but mostly the words she _hadn’t_.

“Peter?”

He glanced over as his best friend caught up to walk beside him over to the convention centre.

“Huh?”

“She keeps looking at you,” Ned informed him, making an unsubtle head gesture back to where Peter could hear MJ talking to Betty and Flash.

But that couldn’t be true. He’d obviously screwed up somehow, said what he’d said _way_ too soon. Sonofabillionaire, they’d been together less than two months. It had taken him and MJ more than a _year_ to have a conversation that didn’t end with him rolling his eyes and/or her flipping him off.

This was distracting him and he couldn’t let it.

“Peter?”

MJ this time, and they were sitting on the floor in their school’s designated spot, even though the cordons were all down since most of the teams had been eliminated the day before.

“Yeah?” He shifted away from Ned to face her. Her expression went soft the way it never did around other people.

But a volunteer came to lead them into the ballroom and their semi-final match. Peter stood up quickly, suddenly more nervous about the competition than he’d been able to feel yet today, and offered his hands to MJ. When he hauled her to standing, she kept one of his hands in hers.

“One thing at a time,” she said to Peter as they walked in their cluster of teammates to the semi-final.

Her voice wasn’t a demand, it was a request. He guessed she was pushing herself to say just enough to prevent him from really stressing out, though she obviously needed some time before she could say more. Still, the few words helped; he knew he wasn’t forgotten.

In front of Mr. Harrington, MJ was textbook motivational. She made steady eye contact with everyone. She checked that the lapels of each yellow blazer were lying flat. She quoted something Peter had never heard before, but which had that weird influence powerful quotations always have, like she’d cast a spell on the team.

Once Mr. Harrington had taken his seat, MJ looked through their group (Peter, still holding her hand―Abe, again in his lucky socks) at their opponents. “Fuck them up,” she instructed them. No awards for good sportsmanship there, but decathlon at this level was cutthroat, and Peter’s team was fortunate enough to have a captain that didn’t play games.

Their adversaries were good―better than anybody they’d faced the day before―which was what happened when round robins eliminated weaker teams, like scooping up fish in the shallows and leaving sharks in the deeper water. Peter was suppressing his usual fidgetiness in an effort to focus and not buzz in too early. MJ, next to him, looked like she could’ve been sitting at her kitchen table while her mom made mac and cheese on the stove; crazy relaxed. He could’ve sworn that she did some kind of weird, animalistic thing to, like, slow down her heartrate. Competitions were a near-hibernation experience for her, but she was quick to jolt out of her lazy-looking posture to give a clear, well-enunciated answer. Peter might have just watched her, if he wasn’t so tense.

Eventually, they made it through to their victory, except nobody could really relax with the final still hanging over them. There would be a second semi-final with two other teams to determine Midtown’s competitor in the big match, but that wouldn’t start for at least half an hour, then things would be set up all over again for the final. Peter didn’t know for sure, but he assumed they had to retrieve special questions from a top secret safe or something. If only the Avengers could come see an operation like _this_. Probably not a normal thing to do for a kid who was publicly only Tony Stark’s former intern though.

The team had decided ahead of time to stay at the center between matches in order to maintain their focus following the semi-final. It was scary quiet now with the activity concentrated on the ballroom and one less team left to sit around quizzing each other. Maybe it was mutiny or something, but Peter couldn’t stay sitting around with MJ in front of him _and_ on his mind. After a trip to the bathroom with Ned, Peter headed for the far doors instead of back towards the group.

“If she asks, I’m reviewing at the hotel,” he told his best friend, turning to walk backwards.

Ned rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be an idiot, Peter.”

“You don’t even know what I’m doing!”

“So?” Ned argued. “That’s good advice no matter the situation.”

Peter sighed and shook his head.

“I’ll be back in plenty of time.”

“Uh, yeah, you better be.”

Outside, Peter took a second to stand still on the sidewalk; Cleveland wasn’t New York, but it was an adjustment to hear city sounds after the quiet of the near-empty exhibition room. He reached into his pocket and turned his phone back on. Right away, it vibrated and before Peter could swipe to answer, the call connected on its own.

“How did you _do_ that?”

“You really need to start picking up,” Mr. Stark countered.

Peter made a face totally for his own benefit and began walking in the direction of the hotel.

“We just got out of the semi-final. We aren’t allowed to have our phones on in there.”

“Why not?”

Mr. Stark didn’t sound like he was paying attention.

“Because someone could use their phone to cheat?” Peter suggested.

“What’s wrong with that? Using technology to your advantage?”

“It’s unethical,” he pointed out.

“It’s adaptation,” his mentor countered. “By the way, uh, Cleveland may not be totally secure.”

“What.” It came out flat.

“Got your suit on you?”

“It’s at the hotel.” Heartbeat accelerated. Eyes scanning an intersection in all directions as he crossed it.

“Then you know your objective.”

“Since when are you so formal?” Peter wondered, thankful for the lighter pedestrian traffic on these sidewalks compared to home. He’d broken into a sprint.

“Since I was still 30 minutes out and I think Bruce might’ve said something once in passing about the calming effect of a steady voice. I don’t know.”

“I’ll connect from the suit,” Peter promised as he approached the hotel. He hung up and practically dove through the doors.

There was a family checking out at the front desk, including a little boy wearing a Cedar Point t-shirt. Yesterday’s sun and rollercoasters suddenly felt very far away.

Peter picked the stairwell over the elevator on instinct and bolted up to the room he’d shared with MJ over the past two blissfully regular (well, not _regular_ ) nights. He dug the Spidey suit out of the bottom of his suitcase, where it’d been hanging out with the two extra sweaters and the backup deodorant May had made him pack. Those things came out in a tumble when he yanked the suit free.

Sheading his blazer, shirt, jeans, and shoes, Peter wriggled into the suit and compressed it to his skin. He slid the mask into place and there was Mr. Stark, ready in his ear.

“Ok, what do I do?”

According to his mentor, it was Peter’s lucky day. The Cleveland branch of Nutjobs 4 Thanos (Mr. Stark’s name―Peter had a bad feeling about receiving a one-off novelty t-shirt as a present in the near future) was mobilizing, their spirits evidently undamped by their brethren’s sucky showing in the Big Apple. He was told that Black Widow had acquired the intel and started that whole assembling of the Avengers thing, but it still took the team time to travel from upstate New York. Not attacking NYC put these bad guys in the minority. Apparently, once the whole universe was targeted, New York wasn’t such a big deal anymore. Peter was almost offended.

Somebody in the air or back at headquarters (there wasn’t time to ask) sighted criminal movement using satellite footage. Mr. Stark said they were heading towards the lake and, since bad guys were often drawn to landmarks, he was prepared to hazard a guess that they’d be converging on the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. That was a bummer if they did any damage, but convenient for Peter, considering the museum was practically around the corner from the hotel where the decathlon team was staying―not that he needed to negotiate streets when he was slinging webs. If he left soon, he’d beat them to their destination.

“Chop chop,” his mentor ended the call with.

Peter spun to check the time on the nightstand clock out of habit, though it was also on his suit display. Yeah, he could do this. He could definitely be back in plenty of time to be one of their team’s chairs in the final.

There was a click and then the door to the room opened.

“Peter? You can’t just…”

It was MJ. She saw him standing there in the suit. Peter crossed his arms, trying to be casual.

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

He whipped the mask off and clenched it in his hand.

“Mr. Stark called. It’s an emergency. And I’ll be super quick!”

Slowly, she approached him.

“That’s actually not why I came to get you.” He kept watching her face even when she wasn’t looking back at him. “I thought we could talk about… yesterday. Last night.”

Peter seriously didn’t know if he could handle this. The decathlon final, the criminals closing in on the museum, and MJ was about to remind him of what a doofus he’d been blurting out something that he should’ve put more thought into saying, or considered her at all.

“Right… now?” His expression felt pitiful.

“Dammit, Peter,” her tone made his back straighten abruptly, “before you stop your thousandth robbery, or save somebody else’s mother from a mugging, or climb another one of this country’s goddamn phallic monuments, let me say I love you!”

Peter started to step towards her, but his brain wanted to be sure, be really sure, because this couldn’t be right. Not after last night’s silence.

“You do?”

“YES!”

He nearly jumped back. MJ walked up to him and held his hand.

“And I was coming here to say it anyway, before I knew it had the potential to fuck up Tony Stark’s plans.”

A smile tugged Peter’s mouth up.

“So, do you―”

“Questions later. Get out of here!” She released his hand, stepped next to him, and gave his back a little shove in the direction of the door. “I’m trying to walk the fine line between messing things up for Stark and not preventing you from helping people. Plus, as your captain, I need you to be on time for the final. I’m not doing it without you after you missed Washington.”

“I’ll be there.”

She cut him half-lidded, take-no-bullshit eyes.

“I know that.”

Peter laughed and let her push him towards the door.

“Ok, I’ll see you back at the convention centre.”

“Peter?”

He frowned and turned back.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’s weird or patronizing for me to ask, but, is there anything I can do?”

Peter stared at her, with her yellow blazer and her toasted, certain eyes. He remembered what Dr. Banner had said when he’d asked for advice, about how this would be hard for MJ, being the one left behind while he ran _towards_ danger. Of course Peter couldn’t bring her―he didn’t know precisely what he was going up against and he’d be alone―but maybe she could help another way.

“Yep. Kiss me.”

She strode straight at him, grabbed his face, and pretty much just let him catch her as she fell against him into the kiss. Well, that had gone over better than he’d anticipated. He held her for too short a time, keeping his mask clasped behind her back. Still, Peter savoured the way seconds broke down for him as he gradually drew back with his eyes still closed, smelling her smell and leaving the warmth of her lips.

“I’ll take your clothes back to the convention centre,” she said quietly. “Call me when you’re sneaking in and I’ll bring them to you.”

He nodded and said, “I love you too.”

And he darted out the door.

* * *

How to do the Cleveland mission in ten easy steps:

First, discover a large, suspicious van that has been driven close enough to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame to jump the curb and be left parked on the sidewalk. (Additional step: frown in annoyance at how this parking job has limited the accessibility access to the museum.)

Second, call Mr. Stark and ask about additional hostiles before pursuing the van crew. (Additional step: pace anxiously out front, thanks to valuable seconds wasted, as tourists begin to notice the Spidey suit and do double-takes.)

Third, pursue the van crew after learning a second vehicle is delayed by what the Black Widow has determined to be a flat tire. (Additional step: chuckle to self at a flat tire foiling crime, while blithely ignoring the fact that you know nothing about changing a tire.)

Fourth, usher museum visitors towards the exits, thereby promoting public safety and making it easier to spot and take down bad guys. (Additional step: repeat instructional shout about vacating the museum several times to compete with upstairs listening rooms blasting ‘Bad Reputation’ and ‘Thunderstruck’.)

Fifth, dig deep into vocabulary to find sufficient ways of saying ‘excuse me’ when rushing around patrons, ‘sorry’ when bumping into them, and ‘oh shi―crap’ when almost knocking over some famous guitarist’s priceless instrument on display.

Sixth, locate bad guys attempting to arm the bomb they’ve lodged behind a toilet in the staff restroom. (Additional step: toilet pun―duck gun fire, take the gun with webs, wince while whacking criminal #1 in the head with it―toilet pun―deliver a swinging kick to criminal #2, web him to a stall door as he staggers backwards―toilet pun―crank a faucet and block the drain to create minor flooding―toilet pun―say ‘whoopsie’ in a tone of faux sympathy as criminal #3 slips in the pooling water―toilet pun―check the time, complain to the criminals in various states of consciousness about the tight schedule you’re working under―toilet pun―drag the final criminal away from the bomb and admonish him for saying you looked wimpy.)

Seventh, grab the bomb and acknowledge Mr. Stark’s voice for the first time since entering the museum. (Additional step: turn off tap to halt flooding because custodians work hard enough.)

Eighth, exit the building, leaving four would-be bombers secured in the bathroom. (Additional step: nearly break another guitar, but catch it with supernatural reflexes while internally panicking.)

Ninth, encounter Iron Man and the others outside and update each other, finding out the second vehicle and its occupants have been apprehended. (Additional step: realize you are still holding a live bomb. Externally panic.)

Tenth, hand the bomb over promptly to Mr. Stark when he gestures for it, forgetting his long history of hating to be handed things. (Additional step: yelp as he hurls it into Lake Erie.)

* * *

Peter wasn’t exactly tired, but yeah, he would’ve preferred not to go straight from saving the city to a high-stress decathlon final. Being a superhero in high school came with a heavy schedule. He realized, as he hurried back to the convention centre―trying to go rooftop to rooftop as stealthily as he could in a red suit in the middle of the day and hoping most people’s attention was on the Avengers back at the museum―that he’d taken a few hits in between giving them out. Well, as long as he could move his arm, he could answer questions.

He made the briefest call possible to MJ, who hurried him into the building (trying to block him with her body from the few people who weren’t either preparing or taking their seats to watch the final). She boldly kicked the door of the men’s washroom open with her sneaker, then hustled Peter in there as well. Stuffing her backpack into his arms, MJ abruptly turned her back to him and Peter unzipped the bag to find the clothes he’d scrambled out of at the hotel. When he was done changing and she _did_ face him again, they were silent for a long minute.

“You’re looking a little worse for wear,” she finally said. Her eyes were wells, liquid and deep with all the things she could’ve said.

“My bruises heal fast,” he promised, shrugging on the yellow blazer to cover his splotchy arms.

They just stared at each other again, realizing―at least for Peter―that they couldn’t let themselves drift from the decathlon mindset. This was how things were for him: kicking butt between classes; fighting crime and getting home in time to set the dinner table. But would it rattle MJ? Was it wrong to involve her even as much as having his regular clothes waiting for him? She’d handled everything well so far, but she’d never seen him actually battered from a fight before now.

“Ok,” she said simply.

“Ok.”

“Hurry up.” MJ held the washroom door open and Peter exited ahead of her. “They were getting worried about you making it back in time.”

“Worried?”

“Well, not so much Flash. He’s still angling for your chair.”

“Supervillain origin story,” Peter mumbled.

MJ rolled her eyes as they sped towards their team.

“Whatever, nerd, just get over here.”

He was touched by the visible reaction from the group when they saw him. Mr. Harrington’s face said they might have just averted a heart attack. Cindy quit hyperventilating. Abe stopped staring at his socks with an expression of abject betrayal. Ned’s eyes lit up. They did their handshake.

“Peter! Where…”

His best friend trailed off as Peter offered a meaningful lift of his eyebrows. Yeah, Ned was going to give him crap later for not including him in the mission, but things hadn’t really worked out that way this time. It was lucky that he’d had someone else to rely on. Shyly, admiringly, Peter glanced at MJ. She dove into her final impromptu pep talk. It seemed more forceful than usual, though they did kinda need that to break through the feelings of nervousness and/or nausea visible on most of their faces. MJ was strong. She could handle this, and that other stuff. She was the right one.

 _The_ one, Peter was thinking as she led them, single-file into the ballroom.

Then, “we won,” he was repeating to himself and the others after MJ provided the final, correct answer.

She tried to step back and let someone else accept the trophy, but everyone pushed her forward until she finally took it, smiling.

“You always have to have the last word, don’t you?” Peter teased, speaking close to her ear while their teacher and teammates cheered.

MJ handed the trophy off to Flash. Over her shoulder, Peter saw Betty hugging Ned fiercely. And it wasn’t even gross.

“Yes,” the captain firmly agreed, and held Peter carefully by the lapels of his team blazer to plant a kiss on his mouth.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Kate_alexis121314! I hope it's wonderful for you and that this chapter can contribute to your special day.
> 
> Now I have to acknowledge the fact that my story is ending; [insert expletive of your choice].
> 
> Wow, this is surprisingly tough. Statistically, we can all see that "Affinity War" has been a big success. For me, it's a personal success, featuring 11 more chapters than I've ever written before, a final word count just over 100,000, and so many deeply thoughtful comments. Thank you. Getting to recognize some of the same readers week after week has been an unanticipated delight.
> 
> Allow me to sell you on becoming my friend on Tumblr (where I'm still forasecondtherewedwon). Why not get to know me, my hit-or-miss sense of humour, and my unpopular opinions? I'll give you one for free: I believe Val Kilmer was the best Batman. If none of that appeals, COME SEND ME A SPIDEYCHELLE PROMPT! I've just reblogged a list that I'm taking requests from. I'll be posting one a week there and here, on AO3.
> 
> Anything else? No? Well, you guys, I've had a ball.

XXXIII

He knew the sound of her footsteps; when had that happened? Peter turned to watch MJ operating at an unusual level of activity, darting around the other people on the sidewalk to catch up to him. Somehow, he was frowning _and_ smiling.

“What are you doing?”

“Told Mr. Harrington―” Pant. “―that it was my responsibility to help you call your aunt.” She waved a hand emphatically to fill the momentary silence as she caught her breath. “As your captain,” MJ concluded.

Peter laughed. He’d managed to position himself at a distance from Mr. Harrington until they’d won the tournament, which was when Peter had gone right up to him for a high-five and totally forgotten that any visible bruises might alarm their panicky teacher. Deciding that the best course of action would be to calm Mr. Harrington’s fears, Peter had suggested being allowed to go straight back to the hotel, where he’d claimed to have left his cell phone, in order to call May. The teacher granted permission quickly enough, but Peter had a feeling that he’d accepted ‘I fell off the bed in the hotel room’ as the explanation behind the bruises with some serious suspicion.

“I’m not really calling her,” he confessed now to his girlfriend, taking her hand as they walked up to the hotel. “I can fill her in tomorrow when the bruises are gone. She doesn’t need to see them.”

“If you’re sure. And I’m trusting you here, Parker, because I don’t know the protocol yet.” MJ narrowed her eyes at him.

“I don’t need to upset her over nothing.”

“That’s fine, as long as you know I’m not accepting ‘waiting for them to go away’ as treatment for your injuries.”

He sighed as they entered the hotel and headed for the elevator. There were no broken bones! No missing teeth! No blood loss! His durability and accelerated healing were all he needed.

“You don’t understand―”

“I was raised by a doctor, dumbass. End of discussion.” She punched their floor number with her thumb.

Peter didn’t put up much fuss until MJ made a dozen trips to the ice machine, the room’s ice bucket returning loaded up and over the rim each time. All that ice went into the bathtub; Peter was already frozen, sitting stiffly on the edge of the bed and staring into the washroom with horror―he was certain―in his eyes.

“That’s too much ice,” he protested, nervous to even remind her of his presence. MJ was so focused on her task that she might forget all about him. Maybe? If he was lucky?

“Nope. The tub’s only…” A pause while he assumed she was doing a visual estimation. “…a quarter of the way full. I think that’s enough now though,” MJ declared, coming back into the bedroom. “You can fill it the rest of the way with cold water.”

“Great,” Peter squeaked out. His girlfriend rolled her eyes mercilessly.

“Ice reduces swelling. Your bruises will heal faster.”

He tried to give her a dark look, but it just made MJ laugh. Frowning, Peter rose from the bed and took the slowest possible steps towards the torture his girlfriend had devised.

“My whole body?” he whined.

“You need to ice these bruises,” she explained for the thousandth time. “Even if both of us had a towel packed with ice in each hand, we wouldn’t have enough hands. This is more efficient. You should appreciate that, dork.”

“Oh yeah,” Peter said sarcastically. She leaned around him from behind to kiss his cheek. It made him feel better, but he wasn’t going to tell _her_ that. “I’m not taking my boxers off.”

“Your call.”

She stepped back, hands raised. Peter closed the bathroom door and faced his nemesis with a suitably serious face. He turned on the faucet, listening to the ice crackle as water began to flood the bottom of the tub.

“Why, why, _why_ ,” he muttered to himself.

He stripped to his underwear, dropping his clothes (minus the decathlon blazer, which MJ had hung in the closet for him) to the tile floor. _Ok_ , Peter thought, psyching himself up as he turned off the tap. _She’s making you do this to take care of you. It’s going to help. She loves you_.

More than disappointingly, the pep talk didn’t make the water any warmer or help Peter imagine that he was somewhere else when he heard the ice cubes jangle against his legs as he stepped in. He resisted the urge to scream.

“I am not sitting in this,” he stated aloud to himself, then exhaled in a hard puff through his mouth―that he might’ve learned from a labour video in health class―and lowered himself into the water.

Peter was not good at waiting for time to pass. Boredom made him crazy restless, but this? This arctic bathtub was intolerable. He closed his eyes, gripping the edges of the tub. It had to have been, what? Like, 20 minutes by now? 30?

“Can we call it?” he shouted at the door.

Seconds later, MJ opened it, standing there, beautiful, in her purple nightie.

“It’s been three and a half minutes.”

“You’re messing with me,” he accused, narrowing his eyes and looking up at her as she approached.

“I barely got through two pages of _Anna Karenina_.”

“You’re messing with me and you’re a really slow reader?”

She shook her head.

“It can’t be thaaat bad.”

“Get in here and find out,” Peter dared her. MJ shrugged cavalierly. He reached a hand up to her for balance as she stepped over the side.

He had a ton of admiration for her silence, but MJ’s discomfort was obvious in her tense face and initial unyieldingness when Peter tried to pull her closer in the tub.

“I fucking hate this,” she finally said. Peter’s laugh sounded slightly delirious. Must have been the pressure in his chest from the frigid water or something.

“I know you do. Come here.”

She had the nerve to glare at him as she swished forward in the chilly water to be tucked between his legs. As if this had been _his_ idea.

“I admit that this is really cold,” MJ said quietly, her tense body leaning into his chest.

“Hmm, not good enough.”

“I meant it before, when I said I love you.” This restatement made Peter’s heart take off with a jet-powered bolt, though he knew it was coming a lot sooner than it would’ve if MJ hadn’t been wanting to get out of this water. He pressed his face to her hair and smiled. “I didn’t just say it to give you something to fight for, or whatever.”

“I know.”

“So… I love you.”

“I love you too.” He kissed her head.

“Can we get the hell out of this?”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed.

Quickly, he gripped tightly to the edge of the tub and swung himself over the side like he was on parallel bars, then reached back to haul his girlfriend out. MJ’s arms were crossed snugly for warmth, so Peter got them each a large towel and wrapped hers around her shoulders.

“My skin is tingling,” she said through chattering teeth.

“Better take off your…” Peter’s tongue turned uncooperative in his mouth. “Your…” Clutching a towel around his own shoulders with one hand, he made a sweeping gesture down the length of her body with the other. At least his face was getting warmer.

“Right.”

MJ’s gaze held his as she wriggled around under her towel and it reminded Peter of looking through a telescope. Not the hobby version like May had bought him one Christmas, once his science obsession had gone on long enough that she was sure it wasn’t a phase. Nah. A big telescope. A huge one. One that peered far, far, far into space to see 14 billion years of history burning back. The view that showed the viewer how insignificant they were, and how special. To be there. To see _that_. Staring at something so deep and dark and glittering that it would take so long to learn. An assurance of infinite miracles.

A sopping, now-dark purple nightgown slapped the tile when it dropped.

“Well done,” Peter said, striving to swallow. He wiggled his hand down inside his own towel cocoon and shoved his wet boxers down; gravity lent a hand.

He walked to her until the ends of their icy toes kissed. MJ’s eyebrows raised.

“Know any other ways to get warm?”

They scurried into the bedroom, swaddled, and tore back the blankets, diving inside. Neither had drained the bathtub, but they could get to that later. Although, actually, once they were in bed together, things didn’t immediately turn wild like they had in the past. Peter and MJ were fucking cold. They huddled close together; Peter, chivalrously, unclamped his arm from his side to wrap it around MJ and clutch her closer, the texture of towel under his fingertips.

Gradually, she relaxed against him as their combined heat raised the temperature under the covers.

“It’s ok,” he heard himself saying, and MJ didn’t bite back. She let him shelter her.

Rubbing her arms and back through the towel, Peter felt an affectionate ache in his chest. Inside that chest was his heart, and if someone could shake that heart like a child’s piggybank, MJ would be what fell out. He was sure he had never loved her so much.

Eventually, she looked at him again, lifting her forehead from his chest where she’d bowed it, curling around their warmth.

“No Spider-Man tonight.”

“No,” Peter agreed.

They were just Peter and MJ, two nerds in hotel towels, humbled by an ill-fated experiment in thermodynamics.

“This little piece of you,” she continued, bringing her mouth almost against his, “is just for me.”

He nodded until nodding became kissing and kissing became his hand slipping inside MJ’s towel and her arms folded around his shoulders as her fingers scratched up his neck into his hair. Seemed like neither of them had a spare hand to grab the towels and eject them from the sheets, so they just rolled away from them―Peter over MJ, MJ over Peter, Peter over again―making slow but eventual progress to the other side of the bed.

“You feel up to this?” she asked, only once. From above her, he lowered his hips. The corner of MJ’s lips quivered up. “Not what I meant.”

Peter probed deep into her mouth with his tongue, stroking hers and drawing it into his own mouth until she moaned. His hips ground ceaselessly into MJ’s and her legs rose and fell, bracketing his hips, feet doing a slow stomp on the mattress as her instincts warred over twisting herself around him or spreading her thighs wide. They both breathed hard. Peter used his teeth as he moved down her neck, having broken the kiss with a wet smack.

His hands gripped her breasts, his wetted lips dragging down her throat. MJ’s hands kneaded his back and it felt incredible across the day’s strain on his muscles. With one last grope, Peter slid his palms to her waist and affixed his mouth to her nipple. Again his teeth. Again her moan.

“Tell me you love me,” he requested into her skin, his hand jumping to fit between her legs.

“I love you, Peter,” she said, voice loud and clear.

Groaning a rumbling groan of contentment, Peter ran his fingers through her wetness. He shifted over MJ and let his head fall on the pillow next to hers.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She gasped in acknowledgement. Or because he’d dug two fingers inside her and pressed hard. Her hand snuck up his arm from where his elbow propped him up. MJ squeezed his bicep and his cock reacted, pulsing, impatient at her hip. Thumb teasingly circling her clit, Peter hooked his fingers again.

“ _Unnnh_ ,” she replied, eyes trembling closed.

The more he did it, the more she bore down with her hips, following the pressure. His fingers were coated; arousal was seeping onto his hot palm. He withdrew from her clutching channel to work all of that wetness into her clit, like he was trying to roll clay into a tiny ball with his fingertips. MJ’s breathing was pretty rocky now. She grasped his shoulders and kissed his neck, hasty and sloppy. Peter rubbed her through three separate yelps into a constant wavering noise of pleasure. Then, fingertips moving at an above-human pace, he bumped the head of his erection against the hot place between her legs and thrust steadily into her. MJ came under his fingers, this first time, as Peter got maybe halfway inside. Her internal grasping begged him to fill the remainder and he did that―eyes closed, mouth open, head turning to and fro like a blind man or a newborn seeking the light. His hips jerked forward on their own. The transition was slick.

His first thrust had never felt this amazing before, physically. She was still tight and tensing, but drawing him in with plenty of glide. Peter’s arm was shaking―not from the effort of holding himself up on his elbow―and he had to quit touching MJ so that he could brace himself off the bed with both hands. Honestly, what he needed was, like, a good slap across the face, or to be splashed with cold water… He recalled the bathtub and regretted his last foolish thought.

“Peter,” MJ said softly, itching her fingers through his hair until he shuddered. Her eyes were like dimly lit rooms, warm and seductive. “Peter.”

 _Thor_ , he wanted to fall right into her, but something snagged in his mind like when he’d caught the sleeve of his sweatshirt in the handle of an umbrella.

“Condom. Should I pull out and grab one?” He looked down at her with worried eyes. He’d do it, he’d do anything she asked.

“I’m on the pill, so…” MJ’s gaze went from his right eye to his left. “Let me be the responsible one tonight.”

Slowly, Peter pumped into her and heard how narrowly she kept her exhale from deepening into a groan. He brought his face down to hers and kissed her cheek.

“You just don’t want me to stop,” he said, calling her out with a grin. She blushed.

“You do pull it off.”

“What?” His eyebrows flinched together momentarily as he thrust harder.

“Smug,” MJ clarified.

They laughed and then wound their arms around each other as Peter continued, MJ always meeting him with equal fervour, though not always equal timing as their holds and caresses turned desperate and sweaty and precision grew imperfect. Peter forgot where they were. He no longer noticed the noises of traffic through the closed window across the room and the TV on somewhere at the other end of their floor of the hotel. The melting ice cubes quit clinking. The ticking analogue clock on the nightstand stopped. Maybe time did too. MJ’s thighs hugged his hips tighter, but up top, she went loose and fluid, one arm above her head on the pillow.

He moved faster, hoping she’d like that. (Peter sure as hell did. This no-condom thing was _insane_.) Her arm tensed immediately.

“Fuck.”

“Stop?”

“More. More, more.”

MJ’s legs fell away from him, thighs splayed open on the bed, twitching, and Peter drilling hard and deep. His eyes closed for a second as he gathered her closer in his arms, hips going with some kind of frantic reserve energy that had never kicked in before in battle, but which he was pretty thrilled to have now. When Peter looked at her, MJ had tears rolling down her temples into her hair. She was looking at him like she saw the 14-billion-year view too. He thought maybe, probably, they were making love.

Her back arched and her fingers pressed hard into his shoulder blade as MJ climaxed with a weeping shout of his name. Following her to that bliss felt like jumping headfirst off a skyscraper, or from any high place during the time before Peter had known he could catch himself. She was catching him now, hugging him while her legs shook under his.

“Loved you this whole time,” she mumbled. He could feel her heart racing where his chest rested on hers.

“You couldn’t have said sooner?”

MJ frowned.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Peter laughed silently, mouth closed in a smile.

“Right, you prefer to wait for crisis situations.”

“Yeah,” she said dryly, “I’m drawn to them. Must get that from you. Another thing I’m going to get from you is a UTI if you don’t let me get up to pee.”

“Romantic.” Peter slipped out and rolled reluctantly off of her.

“The glamorous life of being Spider-Man’s girlfriend.”

“I thought no Spider-Man tonight,” he pointed out as MJ scooted to the edge of the bed.

She yanked the towels out from between the sheets, then he watched her reach down and pick up one of his t-shirts. She put it on and he stared at her adoringly; Peter knew leaving his laundry on the floor would eventually pay off. He was proud of himself for sticking it out to achieve this outcome: his girlfriend walking around in his clothes.

“Only when I’m using it to make fun of you.”

He snorted as she gave him a superior smirk and slipped into the washroom, towels in hand. The responsible one. Peter spent his minutes alone almost falling asleep. Luckily, MJ climbing back in beside him and cuddling close woke him up enough to know it wasn’t a dream. Or not _only_ a dream.

* * *

Peter’s breathing raced to a rushed gasp and he woke up. Turning his head, he read the bedside clock in the dark: just after 5:00am. He came back to consciousness in a wave, outward from his center until he felt MJ’s weight on his arm. Early. Really early. Their group wasn’t checking out of the hotel until 8:30, back on the bus for 9:00. Nothing felt _wrong_ , yet Peter was experiencing an increasing restlessness. It felt like… it felt like there was something he had to do…

He hugged his girlfriend while she slept, body loose and still. Her legs were hot where they were folded between his. Her back was soft with the worn cotton of his t-shirt. She might actually try to murder him for this, sending Mr. Harrington home to New York with a student fatality, which would totally void the effort Peter had made to get back to the convention centre in one piece yesterday. But she was part of this, whatever this was, that Peter felt the urge to do. They had to get out of this hotel room.

“M,” he said, starting at a whisper. “ _M_.”

Her head moved like she was listening, but she hadn’t woken up. Peter began stroking her back slowly, then her neck. She let out a happy groan.

“M, come on, sweetie. Wake up.”

The happy groan grated into a groggy one.

“Nooo,” she protested, eyes still closed.

“Yes, come on.” Smiling, Peter shifted back from her to give her space.

MJ rolled onto her stomach, her flailing elbow catching him in the gut. Jeeze, he really did need protection to sleep with her. She stayed face down, speaking one continuous groan into her pillow. Suddenly, she stopped. Mumbled something.

“What?”

She flipped her face sideways, hair across most of it.

“Will it be good?”

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Good. Better have woken me up for something good,” she continued muttering.

Peter kissed her cheek then nearly leapt out of bed, searching his suitcase for whatever clean clothes he had left.

“I’m starting to feel better about this,” he heard MJ say. He spun towards her, dropping his armful of clothes onto their bed.

She was grinning. He was naked.

Peter switched on the nightstand lamp and MJ instantly buried her face back into her pillow.

“I hate you again.”

“Hate me while you get dressed,” he suggested cheerfully. “Wear something warm. But maybe… maybe keep the t-shirt on underneath.”

Peter got dressed, donning his Spidey suit beneath a zippered sweater and jeans, while MJ slumped into the bathroom. He took his turn and when he came out again, MJ was ready.

“Looks like you woke up.”

“I’m fine. I conserve a lot of energy during the day through meditative apathy.”

“Great tip.”

“Thanks.” She retrieved her backpack from her pile of possessions.

Peter was confused.

“That might be overki―”

“Don’t tell me about overkill, boy in the crime-fighting onesie.”

She kissed him. And kissed him. And Peter was starting to think they didn’t need to leave. Maybe they could just… No. This would be good.

“Let’s hurry,” he said. “There’s someplace we need to be.”

After fleeing their hotel (silent apart from what looked like a couple of business travelers headed to the breakfast room), Peter and MJ caught a series of near-empty busses, until busses going the way they wanted to go ran out and they had to catch the roof of a truck instead. His girlfriend was incredibly trusting, he thought, letting him swing her up like that and accepting that he wouldn’t let her go flying off onto the highway. Her heart was beating pretty fast―the way he could feel it with his hand on her chest, keeping her back pressed against his front while they crouched on top of the truck―but that might not only have been adrenaline.

Something about that day. They were fortunate in their choice of hijacked truck; it decided to use Cedar Point’s parking lot as a rest stop. Peter held MJ to him as they jumped off at the entrance to the lot so they wouldn’t scare the crap out of the driver.

“You lucked out,” she said, glancing back at their ride as they snuck to the turnstiles and clamored over.

Peter looked straight at her.

“Yeah, I did.”

He didn’t know if this would be eerie for her, walking around in a shadowy amusement park. As Spider-Man, he was used to darker, narrower places hiding stuff way more sinister than shuttered hotdog stands and static drop towers. Peter checked on her from the corner of his eye. MJ was looking all around, evidently interested. He released the hand he’d been holding to slip his arm around her waist instead. She smiled at him.

They wound lazily between concessions, getting to the bigger rides. The main attractions. Peter had an idea and began steering MJ by the hip.

“Come on,” he said excitedly, “let’s climb one.”

With a skipping run, Peter bounded to the closest rollercoaster, visually assessing it for hand- and footholds.

“Not that one.”

“Wha―?” He turned back to her. “It’ll be easy to get up there. It’s actually safer than what we did with the truck, and…”

“I didn’t say ‘no,’” she pointed out. “I said ‘not _that_ one.’ I have to see…”

MJ walked away, leaving Peter standing there, pointing up. He jogged after her to find her studying a park map by the light of her phone. As he tried to figure out what, specifically, she was looking at, MJ put her phone away and grabbed his hand.

“This one,” she declared, after leading them deeper into the park.

Peter stared up. Doable. Not any higher than the one he’d picked, so he didn’t think this was about the thrill of it. Whatever. He’d dragged her out of bed, she could choose the rollercoaster they scaled.

It was getting a little later now though. They black sky had passed navy blue and started to fade out at the edges―grey where the warm tones would seep in. Peter had to hurry up. He fired a long strand of webbing way up the structure.

“You know how to hang onto me?” he checked.

“You know I do,” MJ confirmed, putting her arms around his neck and letting him lift her to wrap her legs around him as well.

He swung from his anchor and shot off another rope, taking them higher. When the rollercoaster narrowed, both sides of an arch heading for the single tallest peak, Peter used two hands to pull them up a final webby strand to the top.

Keeping a hand on her the whole time, Peter sat on the track. MJ freed one arm from the strap of her backpack, bringing the bag around to her front, then settled between his legs. He exhaled. There, the horizon was beginning to glow.

“Why this one?” he wondered, ducking his head over MJ’s shoulder to see her face. She held up a finger to tell him to wait, then dug in her backpack. “Uh, try not to drop anything,” Peter suggested, glancing over the side of the track. “No favourite pen or sticky notes…”

“You’re thinking of Ned,” she said, pulling out a sketchbook.

Peter laughed. Yeah, Ned and his reformed studying habits. MJ flipped through a bunch of pages at once, pages he would’ve liked to have seen because he was pretty sure this was _that_ sketchbook, but she obviously knew what she was looking for.

“Here,” she said, angling the page so he could see it more easily.

“How did you…?” Peter stared in awe.

“I got the idea after Mr. Harrington said we were coming to Cedar Point. I like to use real-life details, um, as you know.” The light was growing and he could see MJ face redden. “So I googled some of the rides here until I found one I wanted to use. Just an idea,” she said again, leaning back against him. “I never thought you would do this.”

He kept looking at her sketch, this surreal drawing of the two of them, sitting atop this rollercoaster’s summit, kissing.

“Of course, I’m going to have to change it now, because we’re wearing the wrong clothes.” MJ stabbed the page, pointing out the discrepancy.

“Don’t you dare. I love it.”

She shifted in his arms, making him nervous even though there were two million ways for him to grab hold of her before she could even _begin_ to fall. His hands moved as she did.

“My turn for a question,” MJ informed him. “Why now?”

Peter grinned.

“That’s an easy one.”

He nodded at where the sun was about to rise. The edge of the sky was burning. Even Peter, with his super-senses, had a tough time telling where orange became red. Pink blossomed above that, whipped up with the first clouds of the day like a layer of cotton candy. MJ leaned back into him again. He put his cheek against hers.

“This might actually be perfect,” she said at a whisper.

“Just _might_?”

“Well, if we’re talking technically, we should consider the possibility of a future event that exceeds―”

“Nerd.”

MJ side-eyed him.

“I’m going to let you get away with that.”

“Because you know it’s true.” He smiled to himself. “Now don’t look straight ahead, the sun’s about to rise.”

“Where should I look?”

“Right here,” Peter said, shaping his palm to MJ’s jaw and guiding her into a kiss that seemed to take her by surprise. He didn’t see why it should. Hadn’t he established a pattern of acting out her drawings yet? Well, he’d made sure he did.

He could feel her lips acting and reacting against his, their own little rollercoaster of intimate thrills. MJ tasted like toothpaste and smelled like herself, but kinda like him too. Now _this_ was waking up together. The first sunshine hit Peter’s eyelids in a hot slice, like the pizza back home. When they broke apart, he instinctively cupped a hand to shield her eyes.

“I love you,” she said with a soft shrug, like she’d finally given into it and after all the name-calling and the middle-finger-giving, this was what was going to stick.

The rope of webbing swayed beneath where they perched. Peter knew about stuff that stuck.

“I love you,” he replied, squinting in the light.

MJ stared up and away, to where the sun would continue to rise in the hours after they left this spot. Her face was illuminated and Peter must have had a crack in his chest because it felt like his heart tripped over it as he looked at her.

“Where next?” she asked, observing their sunrise.

“I don’t know.” Peter thought for a minute. “Maybe Europe?”

* * *

 EPILOGUE

With the entire Midtown contingent drowsy at checkout, nobody had noticed that Peter and MJ maybe looked a little more tired than the rest. By the time they’d returned to the hotel, it had been too late to go back to bed―there had only been time to pack their scattered belongings and wish, after all, that they’d done it sooner. Their one slip up had been exiting his room together, fully laden down by luggage, instead of MJ sneaking back to the room she was supposed to have been sharing with Cindy since Friday. Fortunate again, Mr. Harrington had already been downstairs, holding a half-eaten banana in one hand and a checklist in the other while he talked to the coach bus driver.

As their suitcases had been loaded, Peter had seen Ned and Betty holding hands―finally! Apparently, feelings had been communicated the day before after Peter and MJ had taken off. Maybe fewer sticky-note dates and more _real_ dates from now on. Or maybe both. He’d given his best friend a furtive high-five while MJ helped Betty stow her suitcase.

Now, Peter and MJ sat together on the bus. In front of them, Ned and Betty, and in front of them, Flash and the trophy. The guy was actually sitting with his arm snugly around it, which Peter suspected had something to do with whatever MJ had paused to whisper to him as they walked to their seats. Her occasional threats went amazingly far in keeping Flash paranoid enough to act like a decent person. What a girl.

As the bus pulled away from the hotel, Peter put his arm around MJ’s shoulders. She actually tried to look alarmed that he was cuddling her. Ha! Like he hadn’t found out that she was seriously into snuggling. He waited and she gave in, angling closer to him until he had her shoulder blade against his chest, her hand loosely circling his wrist where it dangled over her other shoulder. Neither of them put on music or pulled out a book or started their homework. What they needed was sleep and a long, quiet ride home. Peter had never felt anything more natural than the pull to lay his cheek against MJ’s hair and just let his eyes close…

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he opened his eyes again, already fighting unconsciousness. Thankfully, his phone was in the pocket furthest from his girlfriend. Peter wiggled it free and turned his head to allow MJ to continue dropping off to sleep. It was a text from his aunt.

_Guess who just found out Spider-Man lost his virginity?_

_Oh crap_ , he thought. Another text immediately followed.

_ME AND THE REST OF THE WORLD._

Peter didn’t need to ask for the how or the why because May’s next message was a picture from a news article: Peter’s back, in the Spidey suit, leaving a bodega. He was pretty confident that he knew which bodega. Sure enough, there was the box of condoms in his hand, perfectly visible; Peter/Spider-Man had turned down the offer of a plastic bag due to their damaging effect on the environment.

“ _Shit_ ,” Peter hissed.

MJ shifted sleepily and turned to look at him. Wordlessly, he showed her May’s messages. His girlfriend blurted out a laugh. The fact that Ned didn’t poke his head between the seats ahead of them to find out what was going on told Peter his guy in the chair was already down for the count. While Peter and MJ were both staring at the screen, it changed to display an incoming call. Panicking, he dismissed it. MJ gave him a _yikes_ face.

“I’m going to grab one of the empty seats at the back while I deal with this,” Peter told her solemnly. “Go ahead and sleep.”

She motioned with her hand and Peter stripped off his sweater, passing it over to be curled into a makeshift pillow, placed between MJ’s head and the window.

“Good luck,” she said through a yawn.

Peter nodded in acknowledgement and stepped into the aisle of the bus. He grabbed headrest after headrest, propelling himself towards the back corner in a motion that was almost like swinging. Before he got there, the phone rang again, same number. Deep breath. Peter answered, still moving.

“Um, hi, Mr. Stark. What’s up?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [fade to black]
> 
> [Gwen Stefani's "Hollaback Girl" blares]


End file.
